


Consume

by claryfrary



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: "my most APT pupil", AU, Alina The Clumsy TA!, Alina i'm so sorry i did this to you, Alina you poor girl Mal ain't that great, David and Alina might just be the bff otp you didn't know you were waiting for, F/M, Morozova The Manipulative Asshole Professor, Nikolai has arrived and he's English, Professor "I'll fail you in my class until you sleep with me" Morozova, Professor!Darkling, UniStudent!Alina, Zoya almost breaks Alina's nose, as in, broke: mal bringing flowers, he's got the most delicious accent, if you know what i mean, nobody likes professor morozova but everybody LIKES morozova, oh boy here we go again, really are we really doing this again morozova????, woke: aleksander but with the sleeves rolled up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2020-02-10 14:23:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18662173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claryfrary/pseuds/claryfrary
Summary: Alina Starkov has never been impulsive, and even less decisive. Her decision to take Professor Morozova up on his proposition is the complete opposite: stupid, thoughtless, reckless. But if she can guarantee herself easy As all semester and gain some much lacking experience in the boy department to help her woo Mal Oretsev, it can't turn out as badly as she thinks it will. After all, he only wants one thing in return.





	1. PREFACE

All she wanted was - was… she wasn’t quite sure. Maybe a shoulder to cry on? Did she just want someone to listen? Or did she want someone to hold her and tell her it would be okay? She’d always been bad at figuring out what she wanted, even worse at going for it - she wanted to say something to Aleksander. She didn’t know what, but she was looking at him, sure he could see the tears gleeming, but all he did was watch her.

“You didn’t marry me for love, Alina. Perhaps you should remember that.”


	2. hang ups

**FIVE YEARS AGO**

Alina had never been good at staying calm under pressure. Job interviews, presentations, stressful situations - she’d crumbled underneath the weight of all of them. And here was another chance she was letting slip out of her grasp because she felt like she couldn’t breathe, like the world would collapse and uproot itself all at once.

“You good, Alina?” Mal glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, voice low so Professor Morozova wouldn't overhear.

She felt her eyes go wide, eyebrows rise and heat climb in her face. “Yeah,” she replied too quickly. “Yeah,” she repeated.

Mal gave a chuckle. “You were so out of it. Daydreaming again?”

“Daydreaming,” Alina forced a laugh to match his, “yeah.” She forced her gaze back to the front of the lecture hall, where her physics professor was giving an introduction to light and vision. She tried to concentrate, putting her pen on her page and jotting down something about quantum properties, but her eyes wandered, as they always did, back to Mal. His hair lied messily across his forehead - he really needed a haircut -  and she couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew they were probably shining. If Mal would let her, Alina was convinced she could and would stare into his eyes for an eternity. She’d never seen eyes so fucking blue. So absolutely gorgeous.

It was obscene, really - just how good-looking her best friend was.

And here she was, letting him slip through her fingers like water, too scared to take a chance and stop him from going to that party with the pretty sorority girl he’d had a crush on since September. She was _right here_ and they had so much in common and - oh, who was Alina kidding? She could never even compare to Zoya Nazyalensky. Zoya was a model: hourglass figure, big doe blue eyes, black curls, skin that looked like it had never seen a bad day. And just to add insult to injury, she was popular and smart and going after _Mal_.

Zoya could have easily have had her pick of any guy on campus - Alina had heard as much from all of Mal’s friends - and she was choosing _Mal_. As if she wanted to completely ruin any shot Alina had had.

“Alina,” Mal was saying, “you coming?”

She blinked up at him, his bag slung over a shoulder and a hand in his pocket. Was the lecture over? “Coming where?”

He laughed. “The party tonight. I’ll pick you up at your dorm if you want.”

Her heart lept in her chest. Mal wanted to pick her up! Maybe he wasn’t lost to her, after all. Or at least, not yet. She nodded. “What time?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I’ll get there when I get there. How’s that?”

“Okay,” she replied, hurrying to shove her notepad and pen into her bag. Mal was already descending the stairs, whistling to himself. She ran to catch up with him, braid smacking lightly against her back.

“Mr. Oretsev,” their professor called and Alina looked as if he’d spoken to her. “No whistling in my class.”

* * *

Alina ate dinner alone. She didn’t mind so much and ate even less. Her stomach was too nervous about the approaching party - and more importantly, Mal picking her up - to be concerned about whether or not she fed it. So she went back to her dorm with a lot of time on her hands. Or, well, maybe she didn’t have as much time as she thought. Mal _had_ said that he’d come to get her whenever he was ready. When would that even be?

Alina discarded her clothes onto the floor and stared contemplatively at her meagre closet. She had more empty hangers than full ones, and among the slim pickings, one dress. She’d stolen it from one of the older girls at the orphanage years ago, hidden it in her bed, and kept it ever since. It hadn’t fit then, and she wasn’t sure if it would now. Biting her lip, Alina slid the dress off the hanger and pulled it carefully over her head, down her torso.

Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she was...surprised was a good word for it. The black, skinny-strapped dress stopped just this side of indecent. Her legs looked like they ran on and on for miles. Her white hair contrasted drastically with the pitch colour, which made her look all the paler but - damn if her ass didn’t look nice.

She gently combed out her braid, looking at her reflection once more before she began rimming her eyes in black. She smudged it out until she thought she’d reached that dramatic movie star look, put on some mascara, and then brushed highlighter on her cheekbones.

A knock at the door came, and, butterflies flapping incessantly in her stomach, Alina opened it.

She smiled at Mal. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, so simple yet so handsome. He gave a two-fingered wave. “‘Sup, Starkov?”

“Come in, I just have to get some shoes on and then we can go.” Mal followed her through the door and plopped unceremoniously down on her small bed, stretching out his legs. She tried very hard not to look at the patch of skin that had become visible when he stretched and put on a pair of scuffed-up black heels she’d thrifted for a job interview. She wondered if Mal was looking at her ass as she bent over, putting her feet into the shoes. The mere idea of it was preposterous but sent those butterflies in her stomach fluttering again and much more vehemently.

The sorority house throwing the party was all the way across campus, and Alina regretted her shoe choice quickly enough. All manner of things littered the lawn, along with couples making out, people shouting “shots!” and a pretty, black-haired girl hanging over the porch railing whose eyes lit up at the sight of them - of Mal.

She rushed over, squealing, throwing her long arms around Mal’s broad shoulders. In the process, she managed to hit Alina in the nose, which Alina suspected was a combination of her being too close to Mal and Zoya doing it on purpose, but she didn’t say anything. Her nose hurt - _holy shit_ did it hurt - and she had a hand cupped over it, trying to stop the blood dripping from ruining her dress.

Zoya drew back from Mal - who had picked her up and spun her around - blinking long lashes over her big eyes. “Are you all right?” She asked with a clearly exaggerated gasp to her words.

Mal’s eye slid over to Alina lazily. “You should be more careful, Lina,” he said, and hooked his arm around Zoya’s shoulders, drawing her in close. Zoya snuggled in, and they turned and headed for the front door, where the sounds of loud music and loud people were emanating.

She wanted to call after Mal, demand he come back, beg him to pick her over Zoya and her - her….everything! But Alina did none of that. She tipped her head back, letting the blood drip down her throat, and stood there with a hand dripping blood into the grass. When she thought her nose was done bleeding Alina went for the door. It was even louder inside, and despite herself, she looked for Mal as she slipped through the mass of bodies.

At some point, Alina found a bathroom and locked the door behind her. There was a splotch on the mirror and counter she didn’t care to know what it was, and instead turned on the tap, scrubbing the drying blood off her hand. She wiped the speckled dots of dry blood from her face and examined her nose. It didn’t _feel_ broken, but then how would she know what to feel for? She’d never broken a bone before. Alina turned her head this way and that, but from every angle, her nose looked as it had all her life - which was to say, long and pointy.

God, she was so _ugly_. No wonder Mal didn’t want her. No wonder Mal wanted Zoya. No wonder no boy in her life had ever even glanced at her. Even if the Zoyas of the world weren’t around then, anyone looked like one next to Alina.

Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes, and Alina sniffled. Why had she even come tonight? She’d known - even if she had hoped otherwise - that Mal would ditch her for Zoya. Who had she possibly thought she was going to hang out with when that happened? Mal was her best friend, her only friend. What was she doing here?

She sniffled again. Swiped her fingers under her eyes, wiping away the tears that had fallen. Her eyes weren’t so red - she’d be fine. She just needed to get out of here. This had been a stupid idea.

Unlocking the bathroom door, Alina bolted for the front door, hoping she was going the right way. No one tried to stop her and she didn’t trip, and she supposed that was the most she could truly hope for. Outside, she started for her dorm, feet beginning to really ache now. Not even ten minutes later she had to sit down on a fountain in the courtyard by where her physics class was and undo her the small buckles on the straps of her heels with shaky fingers. The last thing Alina needed right now was for her feet to hurt on top of her heart - because she’d realized, maybe for the first time, maybe not, that Mal really didn’t want her. That he wouldn’t pick her over everyone else time and again. He had...Mal had promised her, once, that it was them against the world. Now it was feeling like it was Alina against Mal and _his_ world.

“Miss Starkov?” The deep voice jolted her from her thoughts, and only then did she notice she’d started crying again. She swiped her hands under her eyes.

She gave what was the best smile she could muster to Professor Morozova. “Hi, Professor.”

He was cast mostly in shadow, standing just out of reach of the floodlights on either side of the courtyard, but his voice carried loud enough for Alina to think that if she just closed her eyes she might believe he was standing beside her. “Are you all right?”

Alina had heard a lot of things about Morozova, but never did she hear of him asking students about their wellbeing. Though most of the things she heard were in her dorm of all girls and most of it was how he was a hardass and unbelievably attractive (both of which were true). But regardless, here he was, asking Alina a simple question and she was having a hard time coming up with the answer. With _any_ answer. She was not all right, not by any stretch of the word, but was she really going to admit that to Morozova?

Absolutely not.  

“I’m fine,” she said. “Just wanted to rest my feet for a minute,” she held up her shoes as if she needed to prove to him she was, in fact, doing what she claimed to be. She thought she saw him nod in the shadows but it could have been a trick of the light. Over the past year and a half, Alina took note of that unnerving stare he possessed, and could not help but think he was fixing it on her right now.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” he said after a moment. She didn’t see him turn around, but she heard his shoes against the cobblestones and when they faded, she let out a deep breath. She really hoped Morozova hadn’t seen her wipe her eyes. How embarrassing if her teacher really had caught her crying. How awkward.

 _It’s only Morozova_ , she tried to tell herself - not that she really believed it. He hadn’t struck Alina as the type to forget things and certainly wasn’t oblivious. _Fuck_. _It’s_ Morozova.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Alina. I'm gonna be so mean to her in this story. Also, just for reference, the chapter titles are the year numbers (so like the first of five years) and the month (so this one is November). Idk I thought it would be cool. Honestly made more sense before I changed Alina from a freshman to a sophomore.  
> Anyways! Drop me a comment and tell me your thoughts!!


	3. here's where we start

A week passed. Another. If Alina had expected an apology from Mal for ditching her at the sorority party, she didn’t get one. She did not see him, either. He was absent from their physics class, and never in his dorm when she went to check on him. She was worried about him, and no matter what she told herself to try and stop the dread weighing heavy in her stomach, the worry persisted waving a protest sign in her head that read: _WHERE”S MAL? IS HE OKAY? WE SHOULD GO CHECK ON HIM. SOMETHING’S PROBABLY WRONG_.

She batted away the voice and its sign, knowing that if Mal wanted to talk to her, he would. She sighed internally. _If Mal wants to talk to you he will._ Why did he have to be like this? She knew that he more than likely knew she was going out of her mind worrying about him, and he wasn’t doing anything to stop her from agonizing. And after her afternoon biology class, she knew why.

He was with Zoya.

They walked together, Zoya snuggled up under his arm, both holding coffees and talking quietly. Her dark hair was swept up on top of her head and Alina didn’t think she was wearing makeup because normally her eyebrows weren’t so pencil-thin. The sight of Mal made her heart speed up, drop into her stomach altogether. Because there he was, just Mal - floppy brown hair, tan skin, clear blue eyes and twin dimples when he smiled her favourite smile. And because there he was, looking for all the world he would rather be nowhere other than exactly where he was right then.

She wanted to wave, but she wasn’t sure she could handle him ignoring her, and oppositely, she wasn’t sure she could handle him acknowledging her. Alina turned away, heading for her dorm. She sat down cross-legged on her twin bed, the covers rumpled underneath her and did nothing much at all.

* * *

Mal didn’t talk to her that night, or the next, or the next, or for the next month. She never saw him in class and Alina was alone. She had thought she’d been alone before, just her and Mal in their lonely little corner of the world, but no - now she was alone. It was terrible and awful and she learned there was a difference between being alone and _feeling_ it.

She found herself not caring what Professor Morozova thought about finding her barefoot sitting on a fountain. All that mattered was that she get through the days, passed her classes.

* * *

Alina continued to live in her hazy fog. It only cleared, seemingly out of nowhere, when Professor Morozova called her to his desk after class. Students filtered out of the lecture hall, and Alina warily made her way down to where he was perched on the edge of his desk. His expression gave her no idea of what to expect when she got there, and she tried to swallow against the lump of nerves caught in her throat.

“Professor Morozova?” Her voice was meek, high at the end. He glanced at her, stood up and walked around his desk. He searched through a neat stack of papers, flicking through them with pale fingers stained by ink. Finally, he pushed one towards her.

“You were aware you were going to fail this assignment, I assume.” Just like his face, there was nothing for her to glean from his tone. But what did he mean, _fail_? Alina couldn’t recall ever failing an assignment in her life - let alone a _physics_ assignment. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she skimmed over the paper. She’d done the assignment, and so what if she just regurgitated information from the textbook?

“I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head, looking up at him. He stared back down at her, made no effort to elaborate. She shook her head again. “What do you mean, I _failed_?” Alina’s voice came out more demanding than she’d meant it to, but that did not seem to phase Morozova.

He quirked a dark brow at her. “You went on a tangent about solar panels. That was not the assignment, Miss Starkov.”

“The assignment was to discuss a technology that physics could be better used in!”

“A theoretical technology,” he replied, sitting down in his chair. “Solar panels are not theoretical. In fact, I don’t think they’re even mentioned in the reading you were assigned.”

“That’s -” Alina paused. Her cheeks were feeling flushed and she wanted to tell him just what she thought about his _assignment_ , but she knew that would get her nowhere.

“Bullshit?” He supplied, tone impassive still. When Alina said nothing, he went on, “Whether or not you think it’s bullshit, Miss Starkov, you still failed this assignment.”

She was silent a moment. As Alina saw it, she had a few options: tell him to stick it where the sun didn’t shine (which she was not about to do), accept the failing grade, or... “Is there anything I can do to make up the grade?”

He offered her a twitch of his lips, perhaps like he wanted to smile but refused to follow through on it. “I’m glad you asked. I need a TA.” The professor folded his hands loosely on his midriff.

Alina tried, she really did, not to gawk at him. “A TA? Professor, I’m a sophomore.”

“I’m aware. However, despite your lacklustre performance on this particular assignment, you are my most...apt pupil.” The last words sounded rather grudgingly...pleased? Alina wasn’t quite sure. But something like excitement fluttered in her chest at hearing it.

Alina bit her lip, nodding. “When do I start?”

He broke eye contact with her, beginning to rifle through the neat stacks on his desk. He picked up a pen, and his eyes flicked up to where she stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Starkov.” Alina knew it was a dismissal, but she was more than happy to go. A teaching assistant. What the fuck had made him think she was suited to that?

* * *

Alina settled sleepily in front of her laptop. She’d peeled the blanket off her bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, having forgotten to close her window before she fell asleep the night before. She’d been checking her email incessantly since talking to Professor Morozova, but it had stayed empty. She couldn’t decide whether or not she was happy about that.

But now there was a little number one beside the envelope on her home screen that told her she had an email. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, clicked on it.

 

> _To:[starkova@harvardu.com  
>  ](mailto:starkova@harvardu.com)From: [morozovaa@faculty.harvardu.com](mailto:morozovaa@harvardu.com)   
>  Subject: TA Position_
> 
> _I expect you present when I arrive for my first class this morning._

Alina blinked again. When the fuck was his first class? It was already eight a.m. - was she late?

Stumbling to her closet, Alina shed the blanket and the tank top and shorts she’d fallen asleep in, trading them in for the first pair of jeans she could grab, a lacy bra that was so old it was falling apart and then after fumbling delicately with that, she pulled on a sweater. It wasn’t nice by any means, but she needed to meet Professor Morozova. Alina shoved her feet into a pair of sneakers and almost left without her keys and phone before she ran back for them.

Hardly anyone was up and walking around campus so early, but those who were had the pleasure of seeing a blonde girl making a mad dash across campus, the wind turning her cheeks red and her chest heaving. No one saw her skid to a stop outside Morozova’s lecture hall, though - not even Morozova himself. Alina glanced around, wondering if she’d missed him, if she was late and his class was already _over_ \- the door was locked.

Her phone told her it was only eight-twenty-nine and she sucked in a deep breath. Were there even any classes earlier than nine? Who in their right mind would offer to teach such early classes, and who would even take them?

Alina raised her hand to knock on the door, hesitated, and then brought her hand back up and knocked before she could think better of it or change her mind. She held her breath, waiting for the door to open but it didn’t. Alina looked at the door a moment longer, moving away only when she heard a voice behind her say, “You’re early.”

She spun around, pressing back against the door, hand against her chest as if she would catch her heart if it decided to beat right out of her chest cavity.

Professor Morozova didn’t appear so much as amused as he regarded her, quartz eyes finding hers. “If you’re quite done being a frightened doe, I’d like to unlock my classroom.”

Alina pushed herself off the door, mumbling apologies. He _was_ a hardass. She’d thought the girls in her dorm just meant it about the harsh way he graded things, but no - it seemed his whole personality was built on the foundation of being just a _bit_ of a dick.

By the end of the class, Alina was convinced his personality was just simply _dick_. He gave no instructions as to what he wanted from her or expected her to do, and when he told her to do something during any of his many classes, she tried her best - but Alina still stumbled and fell all over herself, and he looked less than pleased with her.

On their way out of his lecture hall at the end of the day, Alina began, “Professor -”

He held up a single hand and she fell silent. If she expected him to say something, she would be disappointed (or relieved, rather), because all he did was put that one hand back down at his side and take long strides toward the faculty parking lot.  

* * *

The last thing Alina wanted to do the next morning was go back to Morozova’s lecture hall. But she went, and she went the morning after, and the morning after that and on and on. She got better at being a TA, but her developing skills meant less than nothing during her own class with Morozova because she was watching, always watching the door for Mal. And sure, it wasn’t the best way to spend her time, and it seemed to annoy Morozova that she would not, could not pay attention during his lectures and slideshows, Still, as long as Alina wasn’t hurting anybody, how big of a problem could it be?

* * *

“Alina,” Morozova looked like he...well, he looked impassive as always, and he sounded the same way.

“Yes, Professor?” She turned her head over her shoulder, hands still shuffling around papers, putting them into piles and folders the way he liked.

“You failed another assignment.”

Her hands stopped, she did the breath in her lungs. _Failed_? Again? She’d been scoring consistently low on her assignments, but… _But what? You’re so busy waiting for Mal this is what you deserve_. She swallowed, turned to face him fully. “Is there -”

“Anyway you can make up the assignment?” His expression was almost scornful as he said it, but his body language looked, for all the world, so relaxed in that leather chair. She could almost believe that relaxed, comfortable posturing. But Morozova already made Alina nervous for reasons she could not quite name or place, so she didn’t. She did not trust the calm tone, the lazy sprawl he’d taken up in his chair. “There is,” he said finally.

His eyes were shining with another unnameable thing, and Alina felt herself wind up tighter. She was one tiny, itsy-bitsy thing away from springing up and never, ever coming back and - “What kind of assignment would I have to do?” He’d been letting her make up the low grades with extra credit work. She could only assume he was going to propose the same kind of thing, just perhaps weighted heavier.

Surprise flashed across his features, and he gave a low chuckle. “Yes,” he said, swallowing back the mirth. “Come here, Alina.”

Alina hesitated, and he gave her an ever-patient wave of his hand to tell her once more: _Come here_. She shuffled over, stood awkwardly beside his desk. It was unnerving, to be sure, to be standing upright next to a man who is sitting and is almost as tall as you are. He was watching her, and Alina forced herself not to fidget - no lip biting, no picking at her cuticles. And then his hands went for his belt buckle.

Alina blinked. Was he really - _holy fuck!_ _Holy fucking shit!_ He undid the buckle and Alina felt frozen like she couldn’t say anything. She tried and tried, opening and closing her mouth. After long, silent moments, where he watched her as he continued to slowly undress from the waist down, Alina spat out: “What the fuck are you doing?”

He gave her a look that seemed to say, _You should know better, Alina_. “You wanted an assignment, and I am giving you one.”

“You want me to - to blow you?” Alina stared at him in disbelief. Utter, complete disbelief.

He gave her that low chuckle again. “If that’s what you would like to call it, then yes, Alina, I would like you to blow me.” She swallowed a nervous laugh, eyes darting frantically. “I am not going to force you, Alina. You’re more than welcome to leave,” he indicated the exit.

Slowly, Alina moved slightly closer, knelt down in front of him. When she chanced a look up at him, he seemed _pleased_. And that sent excitement fluttering in her chest. Was she really going to do this? Morozova had only gotten down to his boxers, and she put a hand on his thigh anxiously. Her fingers shook and he laid his hand over hers, pulled it up till it rested on his waistband. He was warm under her hand, and whisper-light, she snuck two fingers under the elastic, pulled, pulled. She saw the defined “V” leading down, and then she saw his...thing. She didn’t look at it, only looked at his face or anywhere but as she touched him softly.

He made a noise in the back of his throat and Alina figured it was time to...to get this over with. Did she really want to be doing this? She wasn’t sure, even as she took him into her mouth. On one hand, she was nervous as all hell, and frankly, scared. On the other, the buzz in her veins was electric, and she liked the sounds he was making, liked the heat that bloomed through her body, turned her cheeks pink.

Morozova didn’t touch her until he was almost done; he dug his fingers into the strands of her hair, pushed her down as he bucked his hips up. Alina gagged and then gagged some more when he finished in her mouth. He let her go, breathing hard, but not saying a word and Alina swiped the back of her hand across her mouth as she gulped down air. It certainly didn’t taste good, but she swallowed it anyway, seeing nowhere to spit it out. Morozova pulled his boxers back up, then his pants and was working on his belt when she said, “Change my grade.”

He blinked, glanced at her with silver eyes. “I said I would -”

She felt bold, she felt wonderful and high up. She’d just _blown her physics teacher_. “No, change it now. I want to watch you do it.”

He cocked a brow at her. “If you insist.”

“I just had your dick in my mouth, so yes, I do insists.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oo that was rough guys. i just mean the last part. the...you know the part. drop me a comment and let me know what you thought!!


	4. mutually exclusive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes!

Alina could barely bring herself to lift her fork to her mouth that evening. Bold and high up - _sure_. Now she felt...were there words to properly describe it? Mortified was a good one, she thought. She had watched Morozova change her grade to a ninety-seven and turned and ran. Morozova was probably old enough to be her father, and she had...she’d sucked his dick. And tomorrow morning she had to go back to his lecture hall and act normally. Was there really any other way to behave?

She pondered over it - over everything that had to do with Morozova, really - as she tossed her mostly uneaten dinner in the garbage on her way out of the dining hall. She heard his throaty noises as she undressed to shower. She remembered his hands in her hair as she braided it after her shower. She put together his face, detail by detail as she lay in bed, staring up at her ceiling: full lips, long, straight nose. The hollows of his cheekbones, the hollows underneath his eyes, always purple, eyes the colour of quartz framed by thick black lashes and expressive brows. The dark hair. Alina shook her head - he was far too good-looking. Far too good-looking to want someone like Alina. Morozova was, perhaps, on par with the Mal Oretsevs of the world, and the Mal Oretsevs of the world wanted Zoyas. None of them wanted mousy girls who looked like they’d gone gray prematurely.

So the question remained the same: what the fuck was Morozova doing?

* * *

Alina woke up much earlier than she would have liked to but she wanted to - and she hated to admit it - look nicer than she had yesterday in front of Morozova. She took the time to straighten her hair, positioning the heat tool’s cord precariously so that it would heat up. She pulled a pair of slightly-too-small tights up her legs, shimmied into a black and white tweed skirt, pulled on a tight gray t-shirt and tucked it into the skirt. Alina’s options for outwear and shoes were quite limited, so that left her to choose between a) running shoes, b) heels, c) sneakers, and d) jean jacket with a hole in the elbow, e) a sweater stolen from Mal when he outgrew it, or f) her winter jacket. So sneakers and jean jacket it was.

She put on eyeliner and smudged it the same way she had the night of that sorority party and just had time to swipe on mascara before she needed to leave. There would be no mad dash across campus today. She took her time and was still there before Morozova. So she took the liberty of sitting down on one of the benches outside and checking her phone. Every text message sent to Mal still went unanswered and she was convincing herself not to cry when her phone began to ring.

“Hello?”

“Alina!” Mal’s voice was bright on the other end. She could see his smile perfectly in her head, the dimples and the crinkles around his eyes. “You want a coffee? I was gonna stop on my way to class.”

She felt her own smile form as she nodded. “Yeah - two milk -”

“One sugar,” Mal finished. He laughed and Alina felt weightless for a breath between seconds - the feeling when you’re at the top of a roller coaster, about to drop. “I know, Lina. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Good morning, Miss Starkov,” Morozova’s voice startled her and she sat ramrod straight on the bench, thumb going almost of its own accord to the end call button. Before she’d even had a chance to say goodbye to Mal, to say thank you for the coffee.

“Morning,” her voice was squeaky and too loud. He regarded her solemnly for a moment more, her heart racing. Then he simply turned and unlocked his class.

* * *

She stumbled all over herself again. She dropped papers, almost knocked over Morozova’s treasured coffee cup (she’d learned quickly enough on her first day that if she did anything it would be to treat that coffee cup like it might personally attack her if she so much as touched it), and tried so very hard not to look at Morozova whatsoever that when he addressed her directly, she either pretended to busy doing something that required her complete, fully-focused attention, or looked anywhere but him.

So when Mal arrived, all smiling and blue eyes and offering her a paper cup that steamed, she could have simply fallen over with relief. Here was her best friend, her favourite person in the world. Just his presence calmed her nerves, and her hands steadied wrapped around the coffee cup.

She took a long gulp, sighing, “Thank you so much.”

“You are welcome, Lina,” he rubbed the top of her head, messing her hair like he so often did when they were together. “Now come on, let's go sit down.”

Alina dropped her eyes, taking a step backwards from him. “I can’t,” she said, inadequately.

His eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes searched her face. “What do you mean you can’t?” He gave a chuckle. “Of course you can.”

“Mr. Oretsev,” Morozova’s voice came from behind her and Alina fought the urge to whirl around and say _It’s nothing, Professor_. “I’ll ask you once to stop distracting my TA and take a seat so I can start my class.”

When Mal looked to her, confused, all Alina could manage for him was a shrug. He would already have known if he had answered her texts or calls and she couldn’t exactly apologize on behalf of the professor. What would Morozova say if she did? Alina was startled to realize she was more concerned about Professor Morozova’s response to her apologizing than about Mal’s feelings.

As the students settled in and Morozova began his lecture on atmospheric phenomena and the propagation of light she tried to pretend Mal wasn’t there. And only when he finally filed out of the class with the other students did Alina feel like she could breathe. Her chest was tight and she couldn’t stop thinking about him. What did he think of her new TA position? Would he want to talk to later? Would he keep on ignoring her? Was he still head over heels for Zoya?

“Miss Starkov,” Morozova sat down easily in his chair, folding his hands over his abdomen.

Alina turned to look at him over her shoulder, feeling suddenly scornful. “What, did I fail another assignment? You want me to get on my knees?” And she hadn’t noticed it before, but all of a sudden there it was, clicking into place, making total sense - he’d been failing her on purpose, as a means to an end. The end being Alina sucking his dick.

Professor Morozova simply cocked a brow at her. “If that’s what you want, I’m not going to stop you.” He pulled one leg up to rest across the other. “However, I would like to propose a solution.”

“What do you mean, solution?” Alina did her best to keep her voice flat, the way he did it, but suspected she might have sounded more curious, warier than she intended to.

“Something that solves both our problems,” he began and cocked his head. “You’ve been failing assignment after assignment. I am in need of relief, and I am beginning to think the only way I can get it from you is to hold something over your head.”

 _Relief_? From _her_? That had to be a euphemism. “Or you could stop failing me on assignments that are done well,” she retorted quietly.

He nodded thoughtfully. “I have considered that,” he acknowledged, “But you see, Miss Starkov, that simply does not solve my problem.”

“Can’t you just say it?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest. She hated the way he was looking at her, like something to be eaten up, swallowed whole, dissected.

“Can’t you?” He retorted, and she thought she saw something like amusement flash in his face. He leaned back in his leather chair. “Let me fuck you, and I will give you a passing grade in this class.” Alina looked at him, saw the smugness in the set of his jaw. He believed he had her trapped, and he did. If she didn’t agree, he would fail her no matter what she handed in. She couldn’t afford that, couldn’t put her scholarship at risk like that.

So, almost without her knowing she was even saying it, Alina said, “Yes.” What was one time? If she looked far ahead, when she was graduated and independent and living her life the way she wanted to and not the way her money dictated she must, she could hardly imagine this mattering.

“I’d say you’re getting more out of this than I am, Miss Starkov,” Professor Morozova’s voice was - if a voice truly could be - impassive. There was no discernable tone that Alina could pick up on and it made her uncomfortable (Who could even _do_ that?), and she thought about that future - five years from now, where this wouldn’t matter. She fidgeted, switching where her arms rested over her chest, shifting her weight from foot to foot, finding herself unable to meet his eyes. He flicked up his brows at her silence, a quick gesture. “Are you not curious what I mean, Miss Starkov?”

Alina swallowed. Of course she was curious; her teacher had just _propositioned_ her. For sex. “Yes, Sir.”

She got the impression he was pleased by that answer. “You seem to like Mr. Oretsev. In fact, you fall all over yourself for him. Perhaps if you made yourself less available to him -”

“And you’re suggesting I use you to do that?”

“- then perhaps he might take notice of you. And if that happens, perhaps you’ll have some experience under your belt.” Morozova said _perhaps_ like it meant something was already certain. Like he was just covering his bases by using a word that offered wiggle-room to be wrong.

Alina stared at him, despite herself, despite her nerves and the feeling like she might throw up. A passing grade in his class and bedroom experience. That was what he was offering her. And there was no way she could get one without the other.  

* * *

He emailed her a schedule the next day after classes. It was all his classes, all of which she was expected to be present for - and he taught one every day of the work week. Then there was something more curious, especially considering their previous conversation about her only getting anything from him if she had sex with him. It was a link that took her to the school’s website, where she, a Teaching Assitant, entered all the necessary information and got paid for the hours she worked or would work with Professor Morozova. She couldn’t help but gape at the screen; Morozova, that _dick_ , was sending her this? To _help_ her?  

But she didn’t mention it during his classes that day, and neither did he and that seemed to settle it. She was going to start getting paid and she would have sex with him after his last class tomorrow and that would be it. He’d start giving her passing grades and she would have enough grocery money.

* * *

Alina had it all planned out. After the last students filed out, she would lock the door to his lecture hall behind them. She would walk over to Morozova, sit on his lap. She’d thrifted another skirt just for this purpose, one that was loose enough to be pushed up her hips easily so that she could do what she needed to do without really getting undressed.

But still, her hands shook as she waited for Morozova that morning. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jean jacket so no one could see them tremble. When the professor arrived at exactly eight-thirty, he greeted her only with a nod of his head before sticking his key into the door. They exchanged few words that weren’t absolutely necessary for the both of them to get what jobs they needed to do done, but Alina’s chest still felt tight to be near him, anxiety like a vice around her that would squeeze slowly tighter and tighter until she simply ceased breathing.

She shouldn’t have been so nervous - she already knew what to expect. It might hurt at first and then she would just have to wait until he was done, get up and go. It would be simple. Easy, even.

And by the time the last class filed out of Morozova’s lecture hall and she was locking the door, she had convinced herself of how easy this would be. Except - _shit_. Morozova wasn’t sitting down. He was perusing his bookshelves for some volume or another, and Alina couldn’t come up with anything better so she sat herself on his desk.

“Should I use the Theory of -” he began, turning to glance at her over his shoulder, but stopped mid-sentence when he saw her. He turned on his heels and moved to stand in front of her. He took a step closer, close enough that her knee just grazed the fabric of his dress pants. “Is there a reason you’re sitting on my desk, Miss Starkov?”

She leaned into him, looking up at him through her lashes. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?” There was something in his expression she couldn’t figure out, but at least he wasn’t looking at her like he might dissect her to see what made her tick again. That was only a momentary relief, though - he laid a hand on the side of her knee, thumb on top and her mouth went dry. Was that her nerves again, or was that excitement budding in her chest as he put his other hand on her other knee, further up this time? The fingers of his left hand reached just underneath the fabric of her skirt and she tilted her chin up, waiting. He would kiss her, wouldn’t he? Her lashes fluttered when his mouth came near hers, hands crawling further up her thighs. Seconds stretched longer than she knew they were able to, and enough was enough - she reached up, grabbed his shirt collar and tugged his mouth to hers.

His lips were warm and soft and worked against hers like they were doing something more competitive than kissing. She waited to feel his hands reach for her panties as she slung her arms around his neck and tugged him down further to reach him better. But his hands had settled at her hips and stayed there, a surprisingly comfortable weight. And now he was moving in between her knees, craning his neck down to reach her and pushing her back, until her back was flat against his desk. Morozova’s mouth drifted from hers, along her jaw, to a spot just beneath her ear that made her let out a quiet gasp. This wasn’t quite the way she remembered this going her first few times, but that had been in high school and maybe she just wasn’t remembering right. Or maybe Morozova was better at kissing.

He pushed her jacket down as far as he could with her lying down, nipping at her collarbones and moving her camisole out of his way to get at the swells of her breasts. She felt useless lying there, receiving so much attention when he probably expected something magnificent of her. He helped her lift herself up enough for them to rid her of the jacket and began working his way down - lifting up her camisole, kissing at her ribs and stomach, and then he was straightening. Pulling away and pulling her skirt off as he went. Alina’s chest heaved, cheeks flushed bright as he regarded her. He slid a finger beneath the band of her lacy panties and she felt hot all over. This was going to happen. _God_.

And then he pulled those away, too, and Alina was naked from the waist down. He breathed in sharply, and she waited for him to go for the button on his pants. But he went down on his knees instead, pushing her thighs open. He traced a finger around her core, once, twice, and then he went for her clit. Alina gasped, this time not so quiet, and her hips reached up for him. He nuzzled the inside of her thigh with his cheek at the sound before going down on her. He worked her in ways Alina had never even thought of a man with his fingers and tongue. She felt like a cord stretched to its very limit, gasping for air and she wanted him to go slow, go fast, do both at the same time.

Alina moaned wordlessly when he thrust a finger into her, heat burning at the base of her spine, and she felt like she was going to come undone if he didn’t stop. But _god_ \- it felt so good. It had definitely never felt like this before, and when Morozova flicked his tongue against her one more time, she let out a gasp, some semblance of some word she didn’t care to remember as her thighs clenched around his head and her hips bucked of their own accord.

After a moment, he gently pried her thighs back open to stand between them. He watched her, and she watched him, and Alina sat up, hooking her fingers in his belt loops. If he could do _that_ with his tongue and hands, what could he do with his -

“That was good,” he said. Not a question.

Alina nodded, head tilted back to meet his eyes. “Yeah,” she was still breathless, still achy between her thighs. He seemed pleased with that and put his lips against hers again. She tugged at his belt buckle, pulling at the leather until she undid it, somehow. Morozova made quick work of his pants, letting them drop to the floor in a heap and then laying Alina back against his desk. She wrapped her legs around his waist, felt his member against her and gasped into his mouth. She felt him push into her, the stretch uncomfortable for a few moments. And then she felt him pull out, and she squeezed her legs tighter to make him come back. He thrust back in, and Alina moaned into his shoulder. Oh, this was so much better than she remembered.

He went slow, and Alina moaned. She wanted him to go faster, push her harder. “Harder, please,” she whispered into his ear. He gave no objection and thrust harder, Alina’s hips rising up to meet his rhythm as he hit a spot in her that sent spikes of pleasure tingling up her back. “Faster,” she moaned. Morozova put his hands on her hips, pulling back to thrust her into the desk. It scraped against the floor, nearly unheard over Alina’s gasping breaths. Her orgasm came suddenly this time, wracking her, hitting every nerve and lighting her up. Morozova’s thrusts sped up, again and again until Alina felt him leave her, and he finished on her stomach.

She took a deep breath, letting her head flop back against the desk, chest still rising and falling rapidly. She heard him walk away, pull his pants back on, but she couldn’t be bothered to look. _Fuck_. She’d been nervous for _that_? She almost laughed at herself out loud. She felt him move between her thighs again and her legs twitched - again? He handed her some tissues and she propped herself up on her forearms to wipe...him off her. She got up to toss them in the trashcan on the other side of his desk, looking for her panties and skirt. “What’d you do with them?” She looked at him expectantly.

He arched a brow at her. “Your skirt is on the back of my chair.” She stared at him until he produced her underwear from his pants pocket. As she pulled them back up her hips, he pulled a key from one of his desk drawers. “Turn off the lights and lock the door when you leave,” he said simply, handing her the key before picking up his briefcase and heading for the door.

* * *

 Two days later, Alina waited at the end of the day for him to give her back the last assignment she’d given him. He flicked through a stack of neat papers and handed her one. She bit her lip, eyes eagerly scanning the page. “What is this?” Alina demanded, throwing down the paper marked with a fat, red fifty percent.

Morozova stood behind his desk, arms crossed, staring down at her. “I said I would give you passing grades, Alina, not nineties.” And there it was - that set to his jaw, the one he’d had when he’d gotten her to fuck him. Smug _bastard_.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “But I -”

“Slept with me?” He prompted. “Yes,” Morozova nodded, “you did, and you fulfilled your end of the bargain. This is me fulfilling mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry you had to read that. i cringe. drop me a comment, maybe???


	5. the long game

That _bastard_. Fucking fucker. Alina slammed the door to his lecture hall behind her, fighting tears with a violent fervour. How could someone be so...so - _awful_? He was going to borderline fail her, no matter what she did, and Alina thought it was that part of it that hurt the most. If there was one thing she was good at, it was physics. It had always been physics - when Mal found other friends, when Mal started dating girls a thousand times prettier than she would ever be, when she hated everything about herself. She had always been secure in the knowledge that she was a physics _prodigy_. And now Morozova was trying to dull her one sparkle? Bastard. Hardass. Dickhead. Fucker. He was all of the awful names people called him and more and she was going to - going to what? What would she possibly be able to do?

Morozova was much smarter than she had realized. If she wanted to win at this...this game he was playing with her, then she needed to start paying attention. She needed to wipe the tears brimming, pull her hair back and put her prodigal brain to work.

* * *

“Knock knock, Lina,” Mal leaned a hip against Alina’s open door. Butterflies swirled in her stomach and her chest constricted, but she really, really didn’t have the time to spare to admire him right now.

So she glanced over her shoulder from her desk, took in the dazzling smile paired with twin dimples, the crinkles by his blue eyes and the too-long brown hair with a cursory look - because even if she didn’t really have the time to ogle him, she thought she was allowed an admiring assessment, at least.. “Hi,” she said, turning back to her laptop.

His smile never faltered as he sauntered further into her room. “What’s up?”

“Same old,” she swallowed. Try as she might to make it otherwise, Mal’s nearness was all she could think about. She could smell his cologne, and - it was gross. She turned back to him, where he was now sprawled like a giant on her tiny bed. Alina wrinkled her nose at him. “What is that smell?” She knew it was whatever cologne he was wearing, but did  _he_ know he smelled like a boys’ middle school change room?

“What smell?” He asked, lifting his head to meet her eyes.

Alina bit her lip, shook her head. “Nevermind, Mal.” So, that was obviously a big fat _No_. Maybe...maybe she would just let him walk around smelling like that as penance for when his girlfriend almost broke her nose a month ago. And for ignoring her existence for weeks. It didn’t seem like an exactly equal trade, but she had more important things to worry about just then - namely, getting her physics grade back where it belonged.

Alina stood up, threw on one of the jackets hanging on the back of her door, and said, “Come on. Out.”

“Out?” Mal laughed. “What d’you mean?”

Alina sighed, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. His cologne was giving her a headache. “I mean, Malyen,” she began. “That you need to get your ass off my bed and out of my room, because I need to go shopping.”

He sat up. “Shopping?” His eyebrows furrowed. “But what about groceries and laundry and stuff?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alina pulled on her running shoes. The soles were pulling apart from the fabric and her toes were poking holes through the tops of them. She would have to buy some that were in better shape than this while she was out.

Mal sat up straighter, a look on his face that she placed somewhere between pissed and confused. “Alina, you know that you can’t afford stupid shit like this. You can’t go blowing all your loans -”

Alina narrowed her eyes at him. “I know you heard me when I said don’t worry about it, so _don’t worry about it_. Maybe if you ever bothered to talk to me besides when it's convenient for you - or, I don’t know, check your phone - you would know I got a job and that it is _fine_ , Mal.”

He stared at her unblinkingly for a long, silent moment. Alina could not believe what had just come out of her mouth. Her chances of Mal ever, ever looking at her as more than his childhood best friend had just disappeared in a puff of smoke, if there had ever been a chance. She heard voices in her head, the old woman who ran the orphanage where they grew up, Mal’s friends, telling her that boys didn’t want girls who were sour like curdled milk, who bitched, who were smarter than them, who were anything less than pretty. They wanted girls with fuck-me eyes and big boobs and big butts, cinched waists and legs miles long, girls who would rub their shoulders after a long day, who didn’t argue, didn’t protest or object and agreed with them on everything.

And Zoya didn’t seem like that type of girl, but maybe Alina was a bad judge of character because Mal shot to his feet, giving her a glare. “Do whatever you want, Alina.” Then he did what she’d asked, and left.

* * *

She came prepared to Morozova’s lecture hall on Monday morning: tall boots that reached for her thighs, a navy pinstripe skirt that just barely covered her ass by maybe an inch, and a white blouse tucked into it. Her long hair was done in a high ponytail with strands pulled out to frame her face in what she hoped was an artful manner, and her eyes were smudged with liner, lashes coated in black, lips painted light pink.

Alina had done her research - the boots would make her legs appear longer, the tight, short skirt would give a glimpse of her thighs and make her butt look bigger (maybe, she still wasn’t so sure about that), and the blouse would hopefully make the whole thing look classy. Morozova had held her grades over her head in exchange for sex, so Alina was going to hold sex over his head in exchange for grades. She would be the most tempting thing he’d ever seen if it killed her, and that was only the catalyst to her plan.

Morozova had revealed himself to be a man of quiet cunning and manipulation, so fine - Alina would match him. And she didn’t care about the sex, she didn’t - it didn’t matter - but she would be lying if she said she could think of anything else when she looked at him as he walked in the door.

“Good morning,” he said without inflection as closed the door to the lecture hall behind him.

Alina was sat at one of the lower desks, doing some of the readings for her biochemistry class, one leg crossed over the other. How nice it was to have her own key and not need to wait on him anymore. How funny that she only seemed to get things from him after performing a sexual favour. “What’s on the agenda today?” She asked, eyes flicking up to look at him. She knew what was on hers.

He cut her a glance, pulling off his long black coat gracefully and hanging it up on the back of his chair. “Check your email, Miss Starkov.” She blinked at him, pulling her phone towards her on the desk, flipping it over and opening her email.

> _To:_ [ _starkova@harvardu.com_ _  
> _ ](mailto:starkova@harvardu.com) _From:_ [ _morozovaa@faculty.hardvardu.com_ _  
> _ ](mailto:morozovaa@faculty.hardvardu.com) _Subject: Reading Week Schedule_
> 
> _There are no classes during Reading Week. You are not obligated to show up to my class._

She looked back to him, where he was settling in behind his big mahogany desk. “I saw this.”

He didn’t look up from the thick pile of papers he was flicking through. “So why are you here.” God, she hated when he did that - drained all the emotion, all the potential inflection from his words. She couldn’t tell off the top of her head how he felt about the fact that she was here, and his facial expression was giving her no help. If she wanted this - her plan - to work, she needed to know these things. But - he’d given her clues enough. The email all but saying _I do not want you to show up to my class during Reading Week_. The inflectionless _Why are you here_.

She swallowed down the grin, forced herself to think past that she was probably bothering him and that that fact alone brought her a bizarre sense of satisfaction - to think further, about why he didn’t want her here. The way he was studiously marking up papers with a red pen suggested to Alina that maybe he just wanted peace and quiet while he graded. And that made sense just fine, but she felt like she needed to know if that was the only reason.  Not that she could come right out and ask.

Alina folded her arms on her desk, over top of her textbook. “The email said ‘You are not obligated’, so I took it as my decision to make whether or not I wanted to show up.” Morozova didn’t reply, gave no indication he had heard her say anything at all, so she went on: “Besides, I wanted to check out your bookshelves. It is Reading Week, after all.”

“And you want to read about abstract concepts in physics?” He didn’t sound the least bit interested, but then, if that was the case, why respond to her at all?

“Might as well read about something that interests me.” In truth, Alina would read just about anything that sounded vaguely interesting. Science, history, autobiographies, romance, fantasy. However, now that she was thinking about it, now that her eyes were roving over the immense amount of volumes perched on his many bookshelves, she was kind of dying to read some of them. She spotted some that she knew were disgustingly, heartbreakingly expensive and stood up from her desk. She walked over, heels clicking softly as she moved, trailing her hand over the spines. _Fundamentals of Wave-Particle Duality_. _Light and Vision: Quantum Properties_. _The Evolution of Physics_. _Conservation Laws: The Foundations of Mechanics_. It was not fair that there was knowledge she could not attain simply because she couldn’t afford it. Even when she graduated with thousands of dollars of debt to her name, she probably still wouldn’t have all the understanding of things that she desperately wanted to.

She very nearly jumped when Morozova said, “You can borrow some, if you like.” Slowly, Alina turned to face him, finding that he was already watching her with a look she was unfamiliar with on his face, silver eyes narrowed just a touch.

Alina’s heart thumped heavily against her chest and she forced herself to breathe evenly and slow. That face, hovering over hers, her body and mouth begging him to go faster, harder. Those full lips slanted over hers, his silver eyes peering up at her from between her thighs - “Thank you.”

* * *

So maybe clothes that showed off skin weren’t Morozova’s thing. Or maybe he’d had his fill of her already. One time and done. Maybe that was why she hadn't gotten really any reaction out of him today. Alina pushed the lettuce in her container around with a fork. It was five o’clock, and the dining room was full, but she was still sitting alone. She knew Mal was in here, but she couldn’t see him from where she was sitting, and it wasn’t like she would get up and sit with him, anyway. He always had Zoya under his arm, Mikhael and Dubrov across from him. She didn’t much care for Zoya because she was jealous and because Zoya didn’t seem to like her whatsoever. She hated Mikhael and Dubrov with a burning passion. So that left her exactly where she was right now.

Someone cleared their throat. “Excuse me,” he said. “Is this seat taken?” The _he_ in question was a tall, gangly boy with round glasses that reminded her of Harry Potter and a mop of brown hair.

Alina stared at him for what felt like a long time before shaking her head, saying, “No, go ahead.”

The boy sat down without ceremony and seemed to immediately start ignoring her. Alina swallowed down a few more bites of her salad before the boy lifted his head, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You’re in my biochemistry class… Maybe.”

Alina squinted at him. She didn’t recognize him, but in her defence, there were a lot of boys in her biochemistry class that looked a whole lot like him. Well, perhaps not so gangly and mangy. “Sorry,” she gave an awkward, uncomfortable little smile. “I’m bad with names,” she lied.

“Hm?” He glanced up at her once more. “David.” He shovelled a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. “Are you Alison?”

“Alina,” she corrected, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. After a moment of biting her lower lip, Alina asked, “Hey, did you finish that assignment for biochem?”

He nodded, chewing thoughtfully. “Need help with it?”

Her brows rose slightly. “If...if you don’t mind?”

David shook his head. “I’m tutoring someone in my organic chemistry class tonight. I live in Durast Hall, room 401.”

She tilted her head. “I mean, thank you, but won’t it be a little hard to help me and tutor someone else at the same time?”

David’s owlish eyes blinked at her slowly from behind his lenses. “Why would it be hard?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yayayay i finally updated!! i'm so excitedddd and i can't even tell you why bc spoilers for the upcoming chapters. drop me a comment below!! tell me what you thought, maybe what you'd like to see???


	6. worst in me

Alina felt very far from the temptress she had been trying to embody that morning; she was fidgeting in the hallway outside David’s dorm - dressed in jeans fraying at the bottoms, ripping at the knees and that same oversized sweater she’d worn on her first day as Morozova’s TA - and afraid to knock. What if she had the wrong door? What if David turned around and said he’d changed his mind and why was she here? God, she would be so embarrassed. Maybe…well maybe she needed to just turn around and go back to her room. She bit her lip, nodding to herself. She could do this. But the voice in the back of her head, quiet and persistent - the same voice that was urging her to check up on Mal and see if he hated her now - said _You should just go home_.

She should just have gone back to her dorm. She could figure out that biochemistry assignment on her own, right? Physics and chemistry weren’t _so_ different - they were both sciences. If you excelled at one, you had to be at least okay at the other ones, right? She turned on her heel, ready to leave, when the door she was hovering in front of flung itself open.

Big eyes stared at her from behind his glasses as David cocked his head down at her. “I thought you might get lost,” he said and Alina had half a mind to be indignant at the remark, but then he continued: “I’m glad you found it all right.” David turned right back around and marched into his dorm and Alina hesitantly followed behind him. The rectangular room was sparse in means of furniture, but the small desk looked as though it was only moments away from folding under the weight of all the books David had piled on top of it and there were papers pinned up everywhere, and a giant chalkboard covering a good chunk of the wall by his window. White chalk covered almost the whole surface of it and Alina was curious enough what it said, but she couldn’t read David’s writing and there was a preposterously pretty girl with red waves flowing down her back sitting on the floor in front of an open textbook. And she was waving. At Alina.

Alina knew she should smile - that was the polite thing, she knew, but she was sure all she managed was a pained grimace. The redhead smiled widely at her, brows drawing down and together with the action. It gave her a mischievous air, like one of those people always up for a good time after midnight.

“Hi!” She was still smiling, and she was patting the floor adjacent to her, waving Alina over. “I’m Genya,” she said.

David turned to glance at Alina over his shoulder, where he was standing in front of his chalkboard. “That’s Genya,” he explained. “I’m helping her with organic chemistry.”

Alina shook herself. She tried to pull on that confidence, that calmness she wore in front of Morozova, and went to sit beside Genya. She wasn’t sure what else to do, so she stuck out her hand for Genya to shake and said, “I’m Alina.”

Genya squinted at her through copper lashes, and it was just then that Alina noticed the unusual gold colour of the girl’s eyes. “Are you in my organic chem class?”

“No,” she shook her head, and then realized she’d been doing that a lot and bit her lip nervously. “Me and David have the same biochem class and I’ve been stuck on this assignment and he offered to help.” She went to brush a hand through her hair, forgetting it was in a ponytail, and settled for awkwardly cupping the side of her face, trying to look like she’d meant to lean into her hand this way.

“I’m eleemosynary like that,” David spoke like he was half distracted, but his voice still had a dry hue to it. Alina got the feeling it was supposed to be funny in some way, however, she had no idea what _eleemosynary_ was or what it meant. To be honest, it didn’t sound like a real word at all. She glanced over to Genya to see if she had understood, but she only stared back at her with wide eyes.

He spun suddenly, and his owl-eyes narrowed in on Alina. He folded himself and his long, gangly legs gracelessly into a heap across from her and asked, “So which part stumped you?”

* * *

Mal wasn’t speaking to her, her professor had manipulated her, yet Alina still got out of bed that morning with excitement burning low in her chest, a warm spark in her veins as her blood flowed. She had a _plan_. She had a _friend_.

Maybe. David didn’t seem to be much of a talker, so they hadn’t talked very much during their two interactions, but Alina felt like perhaps this might be her chance to make a new friend. A friend who wasn’t Mal, who wasn’t so wrapped up in every part of her past. But if it didn’t work out that way, if David turned out just to be a passerby in her life, that was fine too. Mal felt like little more than perhaps a ghost or a shadow in her life, nearly the same as a tourist who visited the same attraction every couple years, disappointed that it wasn’t as magnificent and magical as the first time he’d seen it. So she would be fine. If David didn’t want to be her friend. Alina breathed in deep, letting out the air slowly. _I have a plan_ , she repeated to herself.

A plan that involved figuring what the hell it was Morozova was attracted to. Had he liked the short skirt and thigh-highs yesterday? Or was it that he preferred Alina in her baggy sweaters and falling-apart jeans? If she couldn’t figure out what made him absolutely salivate at the sight of her, this was going to be such a hard plan to put into action. So - seeing the time and knowing that she was about to be running late - Alina shoved her legs into a pair of black and white pinstripe pants and pulled a black hoodie over her head.

The campus was never busy this time of the morning, and as Alina made her way to Morozova’s class and passed five coffee carts, all she wanted was a hot cup of it. But the last thing she wanted to do was be late or - infinitely worse - spill coffee all over one the expensive books of Morozova’s that she was carrying. He would probably fire her on the spot. That was certainly something she could not afford - both literally and figuratively.

The door was already unlocked when she arrived, and that startled her just slightly. She was usually always here earlier than Morozova. And it was only eight-oh-one, but there he was, behind that mahogany desk, marking up clean white papers with his red pen. “How nice of you to join me, Miss Starkov.” Was it a necessity for him to speak to her in that inflectionless voice?

“I’m not late,” Alina replied as she hung her bag on his coat rack. “And I brought your books back. Do you just want them back on the shelves?”

This time, he flicked his silver eyes up at her. “On the shelf is fine. How did you find Chateaubriand’s theory on dark matter being the medium of light?” There was that look again - the one she’d caught yesterday. Slightly narrowed eyes. Lips a thin line on his face and eyebrows tilted. It was an expression she suspected he had practiced in the mirror just to make people feel more judged by him than they already did. It was an expression that gave her the sense she needed to answer this correctly.

But she simply could not help the snort that escaped her. “You mean Chateaubriand’s _fringe_ theory? It’s purely speculation, with no evidence and no explanative power behind it.” She shoved one of the books back into the empty space. It was an interesting fringe theory, though. She would give Chateaubriand that. It took her a moment to realize what had all just come out of her mouth, and that she hadn’t meant to say that much. Her skin felt hot and Morozova’s mouth twitching up to the side as if he wanted to smile made it worse. The twitch made him appear to have something a little wrong with his facial muscles because the rest of his face was perfectly still, but damn it he was still gorgeous. She pushed those thoughts away. There was no room in her plan of seducing Morozova for finding him extremely attractive - although, it certainly didn’t hurt that he was.

“A fringe theory is a theory, Miss Starkov. And while it may be speculation, there is plenty of research to suggest that dark matter may, in fact, be the medium of light.” Before Alina could open her mouth to retaliate, he went on. “Have you never considered why a person can’t hear air and that it’s the medium of sound? And if you consider the theory that dark matter _is_ everywhere, is Chateaubriand’s theory truly so unbelievable?”

Alina had to just stare at him for a few long seconds. Never in her life had she been able to have a conversation like this. There had been no one with her passion for physics, for contemplating theories, and here was Morozova, with so much knowledge at his disposal and debating a fringe theory about dark matter with her. “I can’t say I have ever sat down and thought about the medium of sound for the fun of relating it to fringe theories on dark matter.” She was fighting a smile.

He laid his pen down on the desk, folded his hands as he watched her. “Perhaps some extra reading is in order, then?” It wasn't an inquiry, not really. Just a statement. But his next words were the hook, and Alina felt like a fish who had blindly bitten the worm: “It seems another arrangement is in order, Miss Starkov. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Her heart stopped. This was it, Alina’s opportunity. The _catalyst_. She was no blind fish, she was no one’s prey. She blinked at him, “I have some pirated physics books on my laptop, actually. Nothing with theories like Chateaubriand’s, probably, but I’ll make due,” she gave him a soft smile and wished for him to flinch from that impassive expression, to give her _anything_. Any indicator of what was going through his mind. There was nothing there, though. An enviable skill, truly, but Alina felt a little hollow inside; had she just missed her opportunity? Should she have said _No_ outright, been more confrontational about it? Or should she have agreed? His blank face made her feel like she was in over her head, walking blindly into something that maybe she should have walked away from. _If you’re in over your head_ , a voice in her head whispered, _then learn to swim_.

* * *

She needed to make her bed, but Alina could hardly be bothered. There were dried tear tracks on her face and she couldn’t have put a name to what she was feeling if her life depended on it. For some inexplicable reason, she felt like she had failed. Failed at her plan that had barely just begun. Failed at being Mal’s friend. And she had no clue how to even begin to look at her plan now that Morozova had propositioned her again and she had declined, but she knew how to fix things with Mal. Because as much of a pushover as Alina was when it came to letting him just waltz in and out of her life when it was convenient for him, he was just as much of a pushover in the respect that he could never stay mad at her. Not for long, and never forever. She fully expected him to answer her text message.

What Alina wasn’t expecting was the knock at her door, and that Mal would just come on in. “Hey, Lina,” his voice was quiet and he pushed her feet back towards the wall to make room for himself at the end of her bed. His hair was laying flat against his head, all droopy in a way she hadn’t seen for a while now, and the dark circles under his eyes made his face look a little sunken.

“Hi,” she whispered. A pause. “I’m sorry.”

He looked down at her, this sad look on his face, and Alina felt her own eyes well up again. “I’m sorry, too,” he replied. He reached for her hand, hooked his pinky through hers and squeezed. Now the tears fell, rolling down her cheeks quietly - because this was something that they had always done, promising each other when they went to different foster homes that they would find each other again, that they would take care of each other. Alina had believed he’d forgotten it altogether. But maybe her Mal was still in there, under the new parts she was still unsure of and unfamiliar with. Alina pulled her hand free and sat up, pulling Mal into her arms. He was warm and she hadn’t felt so secure in months as she did now in his hold.

She moved back just far enough away to meet his eyes, her blankets tangled around her knees as she sat there. “Promise me, Mal,” she begged. “Promise me you won’t do that to me again.” He knew exactly what she meant, and he nodded, eyes somber.

“I promise,” his voice was low, and the words made her tears start up a little stronger than they had been. Mal reached up between them and swiped them away with his thumbs, his hands slowly falling to either side of her face and settling there. He moved closer, rested his forehead against hers, and Alina breathed in a shaky breath. Slowly, ever so gently, he put his lips against hers. She kissed him back, and how _right_ the world was then, as he spoke against her lips, her teeth: "I promise," he vowed. "I promise; I promise; I promise." 

_This_ , Alina thought, _this_ , as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissing him until she couldn’t breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all, i am so sorry guys. y'all are bout to be mad if you already aren't. well, maybe you won't be so mad... haha drop me a comment lovelies!


	7. an issue of not knowing better

Mal was beautiful. There was no way around it, and Alina didn’t want to see past it as she traced his mouth with the tip of her finger. Not even to the clock on her desk that seemed to be glaring at her because it was almost seven-thirty and she still wasn’t out of bed. But it hardly mattered right then, because here was this boy, this wonderful boy with a smile to light up continents and he was smiling it at her as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. “Morning,” he rasped.

Alina bit her lip to try and fight the wide smile. She couldn’t help the girlish sound that escaped her as his stubble scratched and tickled her face when he leaned in close to kiss her on the forehead. His hair was in all sorts of disarray and Alina reached up from where they were tangled together in her twin bed to run her hands through it. His eyes were soft around the edges as he peered down at her, and all that Alina could think was _I love this boy_. She wouldn’t tell him - at least not yet - but she did. She could even find it in herself to love and forgive the worse parts of him, the parts that were flakey and sometimes thoughtlessly selfish, she was sure of it. After all, who could know Mal Oretsev and not love him? She buried her face in his neck and breathed in deep, shaking her head. “I need to get up,” she groaned.

Mal wrapped his arms tighter around her torso. “No you don’t,” he shot back. “You can stay here with me all day.”

God, didn’t that sound like a dream. Alina felt herself shiver as all the things she and Mal could do flashed through her mind. She could only hope that it would feel as good as it had with - was she really thinking about her _professor_? Right now, wrapped up in Mal’s arms? A slimy feeling coated her from the inside out, something that felt suspiciously like guilt, what might have been disgust, and the only thing going through her head all of a sudden was that _he knew_. He _must_. It was probably written all over her and Mal _knew_ \- knew what she had done with Professor Morozova and even worse that she had liked it so much and that when she looked at Morozova all she could think sometimes was that she wanted to -

Alina shot up in bed, heart beating frantically like it was looking for somewhere to run to. She could feel Mal’s curious eyes on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. There wasn’t enough air in the room, and Alina felt like she couldn’t get enough of what little there was into her lungs. She kicked the blankets off and away from her legs, stood up. Distantly, she heard Mal saying her name, asking her what was wrong. What _was_ wrong? Was it Mal? Morozova? Was it just all her? She ran a hand through her hair - she was being ridiculous, wasn’t she? But what if she wasn’t and Mal knew and that was why he -

She turned to Mal, eyes wide. “I have to get ready,” she blurted. He was half sitting up, half laying down in her bed, shirt wrinkled and riding up to reveal his abdomen. Alina forced herself to not look at the tan skin there. “I have to get ready,” she repeated, calmer, slower. She even put on a smile. It felt like a grimace. “And you have football practice to get to, don’t you?”

He nodded. “Yeah, but I can just -”

“No, no,” Alina shook her head frantically. “Morozova will absolutely kill me if I’m late and I should have been up forty-five minutes ago. So, please, will you get out so I can get dressed?”

“Are you sure you’re - okay, yeah, nevermind, sure.” So he got up,  stretched his arms high up over his head and shot her another of his lazy, charming smiles. Before he opened the door, he pulled her into him, kissed the top of her head and said, “Call me when you’re done and I’ll come to see you.”

* * *

Alina felt twitchy. She’d felt it like an itch under her skin she would never be able to scratch all the way across campus, and now the sensation was only intensifying as she stuck her key into the lock on Morozova’s door. Her black turtle neck felt too tight like it was choking her. She was worried she might split her jeans if she moved too freely (they were a size too small but they’d been on sale). Her bag on her shoulder was too heavy, weighing her down. She wanted to be anywhere but right where she was.

She pushed the door open, and as soon as she closed it behind herself, Alina leaned back on it. There was a small section of wall that blocked her from seeing the actual lecture hall and maybe if she just...stayed here for a minute her heart would stop beating so hard. But when her minute was up, it was beating just the same and she reluctantly moved further into the room. That thought crossed her mind again - had she done this to herself? Created this mess? Maybe if she hadn’t been so selfish about her physics grade and had never agreed to Morozova’s propositions this would be so much easier. She wouldn’t have the guilt sitting in the pit of her stomach that she did right now, she would just have Mal.

“Good morning, Miss Starkov,” Morozova’s voice was low - as always - and without feeling - as always. Alina tried not to flinch at the sound of it, but she wasn’t entirely sure she succeeded. She didn’t dare a look up at Morozova to see if he’d noticed. God, she shouldn’t have come today. It was still Reading Week and hadn’t Morozova told her on Monday that she didn’t need to be here? So why was she here? She contemplated whether or not she should make up some excuse to get up and bolt back to her dorm as she said, “Morning.” But what would she do in her dorm that she wasn't already doing right now? The only thing she would be able to do was panic in private; panic because Mal had kissed her and she’d kissed him back and now the last thing she wanted to do was play mind games with Morozova. Well, no - that wasn’t _exactly_ right. She definitely wanted to give the professor a taste of his own medicine but at the cost of what she might be starting with Mal? She was having a hard time all of sudden deciding which one she wanted more.

Alina heard rather than saw Professor Morozova take a seat behind his mahogany desk. She startled when he spoke again, “I don’t suppose you’ve read any more theories you would like to discuss today?”

Alina blinked up at him. He met her eyes and cocked his head ever so much. “No,” she said. “I didn’t get the chance to do much reading.” When his blank expression shifted to reveal some curiosity, Alina went on: “I was getting tutored - well, not exactly tutored but -”

He folded his hands together under his chin as he said, “What could my most apt pupil possibly need tutoring for?” Was that amusement in his eyes? Or was it something more accusatory? No, that was ridiculous. His eyes were definitely laughing at her for needing help. Alina bit her tongue, fighting the urge to say something rude; she suspected she was already treading on thin ice after turning Morozova down yesterday.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, choosing her words carefully. This was a perfect opportunity to lay some more of the framework for her plan. “Let’s say I’m subpar at Biochemistry.” Alina had made an educated guess that Professor Morozova was the type of man who liked to play teacher, to be the smartest person in the room; that he liked to know he was really running the show. She had never seen someone actually use their knowledge as power before, and she had to admit it was kind of...impressive. But he had an ego too - he’d proven that to her well enough by the smug way he had spoken to her as he all but trapped her into sleeping with him - and that ego was going to be his fatal flaw.

He opened his briefcase, pulling out a stack of papers and setting them on his desk. “I find that hard to believe, Miss Starkov.” She stared at him, incredulous - this, coming from the man who was borderline failing her in something she was actually good at - but before she could try and say anything to protest, he proceeded, eyes never lifting from his papers and the briefcase he was closing, “From what I have seen, you’re very intelligent.”

Her mouth hung ajar, just slightly, but just enough for the corners of his mouth to kick up a little. There was no way she could have mistaken it for a twitch this time - no, it was a smile. A stirring of feelings like butterflies fluttering began in Alina before being drowned by the guilt weighing heavy in her stomach. What was she feeling more sick over - the fact that Morozova’s smile made her so much more attracted to him than she had ever been before, or that she liked even that little smile just as much as Mal’s brilliant, toothy one? She tried to swallow down the bitter taste in her mouth, muttering through gritted teeth, “So intelligent you’re failing me.”

Alina could feel him looking at her now, heard him put down his papers back into a neat stack and imagined him folding his hands the way he so often did over his abdomen. “I’m not failing you,” he retorted. “And even if I was, I’d like to believe both of us know it’s not an issue of you being a smart girl or not.”

“Right,” Alina tried not to spit the words, to leave the derisiveness out of her words. She still heard it when she spoke though. _It’s an issue of my professor not being able to keep it in his pants_ she thought, but all she said was, “Is there anything you actually need me to do today, or can I go see my tutor?”

* * *

She hadn’t honestly expected David to be in his room when she walked from Morozova’s class to his building, but she knocked anyway and found herself surprised when the door creaked open and David’s eyebrows shot up as he regarded her. “Hello,” he cocked his head, gesturing her inside. Alina marched in, hands balled into fists at her sides, palms sweating as he closed the door. “Do you need more help with biochemistry?”

Alina stopped the pacing she hadn’t fully realized she’d started, brown eyes wide. “No,” she shook her head, braid bouncing. As David opened his mouth to speak, Alina kept going: “I do need help though.”

David flopped down into his desk chair, and the way the chair snapped back Alina thought it would break and David was going to smack his head off the desk. But he just rocked forward and nodded for her to go on. Alina inhaled deeply. Should she really tell David about Morozova? What if it totally blew up in her face? _Of course it will_. She pulled out her biochemistry textbook. “Nevermind. I do need help with biochem, actually. I just got mixed up,” she gave an apologetic little smile. “So I’m just still not getting anywhere with the problems Kristoff assigned us. Do you think you could maybe walk me through one or two again?”

* * *

It was nearly nine by the time Alina got back to her own room. They had worked on biochemistry for a couple of hours, David unwilling to stop until he knew Alina had the hang of what to do, and by that time it had been four o’clock and David’s stomach was grumbling louder than Alina had ever heard any stomach do anything. He’d ordered them a pizza and devoured most of it, and then asked her if she would like to stay and watch a new evolutionary documentary with him that he had found online. So, yes, nearly nine in the evening and all Alina wanted to do was fall into bed face first. But then...Mal had said to call him. Said he would come to see her.

Alina picked up her phone, dialled his number as she began to undress. He picked up the phone with a “Hey, Lina!” and she could barely hear him at all, like he was surrounded by a million and one people, all of them shouting.

“Uh, hi?” She replied, pulling on a tank top and cotton shorts. “Where are you? It’s super loud, in case you didn’t notice.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I noticed, Lina.” There was more yelling, what sounded like a dozen people shouting his name and then, “Hey, listen - I’ll call you back later, okay Alina?”

Alina frowned. “I’m going to bed Mal.” He was obviously busy, so was it really fair for her to get mad? She sighed and added in a soft voice, “Just not too late, all right?”

“You’re the best, baby,” he sounded jubilant, laughing again, loud, but not at something she’d said - she hadn’t said anything because she was still so caught up on the _baby_ part - and then the dial tone was all she could hear. Mal had hung up.

* * *

Mal never called her. Alina would have liked to have been surprised, but it was what she had expected. Mal had always been forgetful like that, especially when he was drinking, which Alina highly suspected he’d been doing a lot of last night. She wasn’t going to hold that against him, though - couldn’t, when he’d told her _You’re the best, baby_.

Alina was still smiling over it as she straightened her hair, as she put one foot and then another into a pair of skinny jeans, as she pulled a tight green shirt on. On her way out the door she pulled on a hoodie, one of Mal’s that he had long outgrown and given to her. There was none of that oil-slick guilty feeling in her today, only excitement that made her feel jittery in the best kind of way. So what if she liked Morozova’s smile as much as Mal’s? Morozova would never make her feel like this. This was a feeling that only Mal could ever elicit in her, and she floated on it until the second she laid eyes on Professor Morozova. His hair was slicked back in a way that made his face appear regal and he was wearing a gray dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his black pants cut in sharp lines. The whole of him was creaseless and sharp-looking - how fucking dare he. Alina scowled at him, though he seemed entirely impervious to the look.

It was the first day in a while that Alina spent tripping over herself. Morozova hardly spoke to her, and when he did, he turned his full focus to her and she was never prepared for it. _Get your shit together_ Alina chastised herself. By Morozova’s last class Alina felt completely exhausted - it was as if she had been walking on a knife’s edge all day, waiting to cut herself, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but she couldn’t really place _why_. Despite the weariness though, she couldn’t help the wide smile that broke out across her face when she spotted Mal walking through the door, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

Mal stopped in front of her, the sweet scent of red roses wafting up to meet her. “Alina,” he smiled down at her. She absolutely couldn’t get rid of her stupid smile even though she felt Morozova watching her.

“Those aren’t for me, are they Mal?” Alina raised a brow at him. “You know how I despise flowers.”

Mal rocked back on his heels. “I guess I’ll just have to give them to another pretty girl then.” He started to walk away before Alina’s hand snapped out, catching his wrist.

“Don’t you dare, Mal Oretsev.” He held out the bouquet to her and Alina took it, gazing down at the vibrant red of the flowers and back to him. “Thank you,” she said. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know,” Mal’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, “Consider it an apology for -”

“Take your seat, Mr. Oretsev,” Morozova’s tone was nothing more than bored, perhaps slightly irritated, as he stared down at Mal. There was no objection from Mal, and he winked over his shoulder at Alina as he climbed the stairs to find an empty seat in the lecture hall. Morozova watched Mal go, gaze unwavering. "Flowers, beautiful as they are, wilt quickly," he talked the way Alina imagined he would if he were merely discussing the weather with her. "How long do you suppose you'll have before yours start to die?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know how i feel about this. kinda feels useless, like it really isn't advancing the plot the way i wanted it to but damn its hard to write this fucking relationship between morozova and alina. anyways,, leave me a comment, tell me what you thought.


	8. allowance

Alina breathed in deeply, trying to quell the excitement and anxiety warring in her chest. She tugged nervously down the hem of her same black dress (she really could not justify spending more money on clothes, let alone one outfit for a frat party), adjusted the straps on her heels. She bit her bottom lip - maybe she should check her makeup one more time; one more touch-up couldn’t hurt. After all, she’d only have so long to look so put-together before Mal (hopefully) thoroughly dishevelled her. She looked much the same as she had for the first frat party over a month ago, her white hair hanging smoothly down her back and black smudged around her eyes. She looked...plain. Barely noticeable, if noticeable at all. Something had changed about her, something important and vital that had made Mal notice her, and she wanted more than anything to keep that something alive - Alina grabbed a tube of red lipstick she’d bought impulsively last night and carefully swiped the colour over her lips. 

She stared at her face in the mirror on her wall. The red was...jarring. It was washing out her face and she looked ghostly pale, and all she could manage to see was the brightness of it. She needed to take this off right now - her door peeled open, whacking loudly against the drywall. Alina froze in place, smiling at him. He wore his usual t-shirt and faded blue jeans, but the brown leather jacket was new. He looked amazing, so much like everything she wanted, and then it occurred to her that Morozova would never wear something like that. _Who gives a fuck what Morozova would wear?_ she internally scolded herself.  She cleared her throat, readjusting her smile that had fallen but now it just felt uncomfortable. “I like the jacket,” she said.

Mal’s mouth quirked up. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” His eyes meandered down her body and she shook her head when she thought that Mal was ogling her boobs. _He wouldn’t do that, don’t be stupid_. His gaze snapped back to her face, “Ready to go?” Alina nodded and snatched up her purse.

It was a different frat house this time, but the walk still felt infinitely long and like it was designed just to torture her for the decision to wear heels. The two of them made idle conversation as they walked, Mal talking about how he was having a hard time playing catchup in Morozova’s physics class and that if he didn’t keep his grades up he would lose his spot on Harvard’s football team, and by extension, his scholarship, and Alina offering without a second thought to help him with his assignments. Alina must have shivered at some point and Mal pulled off his jacket and handed it to her. Blushing, Alina slid her arms into the too-big sleeves. It hung down to her mid-thighs and it smelled like him. 

The frat house, Gamma Phi Kappa, was full to bursting upon arrival. It was a beautiful three-story colonial house, ivy climbing up trellises and grass a rich shade of green once she looked past the boy puking out an upper-floor window, another boy on the third floor mooning the crowd on the front lawn and all the garbage strewn about. The music was loud enough she felt the vibrations of it on the sidewalk and she reached down for Mal’s hand, squeezing and looking at him with a giddy expression. Mal’s posture was relaxed and he gave her an easy smile back, tugging her into the house. There was a lot of “Oretsev! Hey, what’s up!” as they walked in, and she felt like she had never received so much attention in her life as she did right then by Mal’s side. It was overwhelming and she wanted to lean into him, whisper _I’m going to get some air_ \- but Zoya probably never did that. Zoya was probably more often than not the life of the party and maybe that was what Mal liked about her. Pretty and popular and… “So how ‘bout it?” Mal asked.

“What?” Alina blinked up at him. 

He chuckled. “I asked if you wanna dance?”

Alina bit her lip, nodding. Mal took her by the hand and pulled her further into the fray, a chandelier casting warm light overhead. It all seemed to happen in quick succession: Mal’s hands on her hips, him twirling her and pressing her backside into his crotch. She stilled for a moment, the contact searing. He brushed his hands over her bare arms, coming to rest just under her bra, fingers tapping out a rhythm on the ribs there. Mal began to sway them to the music and Alina gradually picked it up as well, feeling his member harden against her. Mal’s chin rested on her shoulder and his voice was rough in her ear: “Follow me.”

He seemed to know exactly where he was going and pulled Alina out of the living room, turning right here and left there down the long hallway before pushing her through an open, dark doorway. “Mal?” She searched for him in the blackness, hands reaching until she grasped the soft fabric of his shirt, his skin beneath burning her fingers. 

The lights flicked on suddenly, filling the small bathroom with light. Mal’s blue eyes were bright and she saw him reach for the door handle, heard the lock click into place. He took a step nearer, hands finding her hips again and she savoured the warm weight of them there. “That dress is so fucking hot,” he said and before Alina had a chance to even think up a response suited to the situation, his lips were slathered over hers and she was kissing him back. She didn’t realize Mal was slowly maneuvering her until her back bumped the counter; she broke away from Mal to hop up on it, winding her arms around his neck and drawing him down to her level. “Can I fuck you?” He whispered against her lips and Alina fell short. Was he...was he this blunt with other girls about it? It didn’t seem like the best way to go about it, and Alina had thought that their first time together would be special but maybe - maybe she was just being too sentimental and romantic. Morozova had been blunt with her too - but, no, not really. Morozova was too clever to be blunt about such things and Alina had been subtle with him about it, too.

“Lina?” Mal prompted, his hands already under her dress and moving her panties to the side, his fingers clumsily feeling around. She couldn’t help remembering Morozova, his long and deft fingers as he - 

“If you have a condom,” She ran her hands along his shoulders, down his back, her voice shaky. Mal shivered against her, and she felt him nod. Why the fuck was she thinking about Morozova when Mal was asking to fuck her? He pulled away, searching through his jacket pockets. Alina kicked her legs nervously against the counter as she waited, watching a brilliant smile break across Mal’s face when he finally produced one from his left pocket, shaking it at her. “Hold this,” he handed the foil package to her and his hands went for the zipper on his jeans. 

Alina jolted and looked quickly away, cheeks burning. When prompted, she handed the condom back to him and looked anywhere but at him as he ripped it open and rolled it on. He nudged her thighs apart, and Alina let him, waiting with her arms straight out, resting on his chest as he pulled her underwear again to one side. He slowly pushed into her, groaning and panting next to her ear, breath hot. Then he stopped and Alina opened her eyes, watching him curiously. Was he going to go in the rest of the way? But then he started thrusting, slamming roughly against her and she realized, embarrassed, that there was no more _to_ put in. 

She sat on the counter, hands against Mal’s chest, stoic. Her body moved as his did, rocking with the force of his thrusts but this...this was awful. Every second with Morozova had had a new moan tumbling from her lips, and this was… Mal let out a particularly loud sound, a groan Alina thought, and pulled away from her. His cheeks were bright pink and he was breathing hard, his pupils blown wide. “Did you finish?” He panted as he pulled off the rubber. 

Alina stared at him a moment, blinking before coming out of her stupor - that was it? - and nodding emphatically, trying for a smile. “Yeah, yeah.” Mal seemed satisfied with that and turned towards the door, smiling at her over his shoulder. 

“See ya, Lina.” He threw the condom into the garbage can next to the sink without a backwards glance. If she’d been stoic and stupefied moments before, now she was absolutely dumbfounded. Had Mal just fucked her and left? Why - how -

Alina stumbled after him, forgetting to flick off the bathroom light again, hurrying to fix her underwear and pull down her dress. She could just see him, almost disappearing into the packed crowd. She marched after him - sure Alina wasn’t the prettiest or smartest or most popular or likeable, but he couldn’t just...just use her like that. He wouldn’t, would he? Alina shook herself; of course not. This was Mal Oretsev, the boy she’d loved since she was ten-years-old and he had wanted Alina to just leave after him so they didn’t look suspicious coming out of the bathroom together. What else could it be?

Mal was standing in the living room when Alina finally caught up, but he wasn’t waiting for her. There was no warm smile reserved for her - in fact, she didn’t think he had ever expected or wanted her to follow him, because there he was, kissing Zoya.

* * *

She was such a fucking idiot. So goddamn gullible. Believing that Mal really had seen something in her that made her worthy of him? That had been her first mistake. Alina hugged her arms around herself, heels clicking on the pavement beneath her feet. Mal had used her. How could she have ever given herself one modicum of belief in the idea that she was smart when she _let_ Mal do that to her? Of course Mal would never leave Zoya for someone like Alina, let alone Alina herself. She was just her, just a painfully skinny girl with no assets to speak of and one talent that really meant nothing in the real world. 

Alina stumbled her way over to the science building, digging in her purse for her key. There would be no way Morozova would still be around this late at night on a Friday and she needed a quiet, solitary place to pull herself together. It occurred to her right then, very suddenly, that Mal had not chased after her. _Why would he? He got what he wanted from me_. She hadn’t felt like crying before, but now her heart seemed to clench in her chest and her throat grew tight, her eyes welling up.  All she could think was _Fuck fuck fuck fuck_ \- because this was, had to be, the shittiest night of her life. Did Mal _know_ how much she loved him? If he didn't, Alina supposed she could forgive that. But if he did, that begged the question _Why would he use her like this?_

Tears clouding her eyes, Alina shakily put the key in the lock, turning the doorknob. When she had the door shut and locked behind herself she let the tears fall. She trailed one hand along the left side wall, searching for the end of it so she knew where to turn to sit down in one of the desks. She blinked wetness from her eyes at the same time she heard Morozova say, “Alina?”

She slapped a hand over her eyes, “Oh fuck.” Her words were thick with crying and she felt instantly pathetic. Of course Morozova would be here to witness her humiliation. Her hair was probably a horrid mess and she’d smudged her red lipstick and eyeliner and now she wondered if her dress was actually even pulled down properly. She had to laugh at herself - a choked sound, but a laugh nonetheless, because here she was, seemingly come to cry to Morozova that she’d let Mal fuck her in a frat house bathroom only for him to leave and go kiss his _girlfriend_. 

She swiped away the tears as quick as she could manage, giving a watery smile. “Sorry,” she began. “My feet are just really sore and your class is closer than my dorm.” Morozova, sitting at his desk, pen in hand and ink on his fingertips, looked indifferent to her pretend plight. Alina cleared her throat, “Do you - do you mind if I sit for a minute?”

“Even if I did, you’re already here,” he said drily. Alina sat cautiously in one of the desks, leaning her head on a hand and trying not to seem like she still felt like crying. She sniffled miserably, quietly, watching Morozova out of the corner of her eye. The scratch of his pen against paper was a strangely comforting sound, a soundtrack in her head as she took in his still primed appearance. There wasn’t a wrinkle or crease in his shirt or slacks that hadn’t been there when she’d arrived this morning except for that he had opted to roll up his sleeves. His hair was neat and out of his face, showing off the angles there. Alina knew he knew she was watching him, but he was kind enough not to point it out and her casual perusal moved to the rich mahogany desk. Less than a week ago, he’d laid her down on that desk, put his head between her thighs, fucked her on it. Alina fought the heat rising in her face - did he ever think about it? Surely he must, after all, he’d tried to make another _deal_ with her. 

Alina leaned down, undoing the straps on her heels, letting out a breath of relief when the shoes were gone. She stood up slowly, moving over to Morozova’s bookshelves. She marvelled once more at the number of books he had here. “Have you read them all?”

Morozova was silent a moment, then he sighed. “Not as of yet. There’s a few I picked up I still haven’t gotten to and a few others I can never get through.”

Her eyes were wide as she stared at him over her shoulder. “Really? I never really thought of you as a quitter.” He quirked a brow at her and Alina shook her head rapidly, turning away and back to the shelves. “All I mean is, like, I - you seem very disciplined.” 

“And you seem very nervous.”

Her fingers paused on the spine of a book. What were you supposed to say to that? She swallowed. “I’m not.”

Morozova chuckled softly. “What an astounding reply.” And then, before Alina had thought through her response: “Are such simple responses the result of your spending so much time with Mr. Oretsev?”

It took her a minute to process what he’d said. “Are you jealous?” She blurted.

The only reply that reached her ears was silence, broken by the soft _slash_ of pen against paper. Alina spun around, took a step closer to his desk. A muscle feathered in his jaw, something that looked to her more like a twitch than anything else. “Are you?” The words came out without permission and a blush crawled up her chest. Of course Morozova wasn’t jealous - he likely had women ten thousand times smarter and prettier than Alina hitting on him every day. She didn’t know when she’d let herself do it, but she was standing right next to his desk, one hand perched lightly on the edge as she peered down at him. He set his pen down, used that now-free hand to wrap around her wrist. 

“What do I have to be jealous of?” He mused, silver eyes moving across her face. His grip on her was light, but it felt like a ball and chain holding her there, his gaze pinning her down. Morozova tugged gently at her wrist, leading her to him - and she let him. Didn’t make a move to stop him even as his hands reached under Mal’s jacket, resting on her waist and guiding her down onto his lap. As she sat there, staring at him as he stared at her, his thumbs drawing circles against her his mouth tipped up on one side. “I’ve nothing to be jealous of, Alina. You and I both know that Oretsev boy was just wish fulfilment, don’t we?”

Her tongue felt like deadweight in her mouth, and she knew nothing she could have come up with right then would have been a remotely adequate response. He was too close for her to focus properly, the smell of him almost overwhelming along with the warm feeling building in the pit of her stomach. She drew in a shaky breath, readjusting herself in his lap, moving her hips higher up on his thighs, using the arms of his chair as leverage. Morozova’s eyes narrowed, the cloudy colour becoming engulfed by black and his fingers digging into her skin. She wanted to kiss him desperately, but the expression on his face - the one that made Alina think he wanted to shove her off and pull her closer all at once and hated it - made her hesitate. 

The expression lingered as he brought a finger up to her mouth, tracing her red lips. “You want to kiss me.”

Alina shook her head. “I don’t,” she tried. But she couldn’t take her eyes off his full lips, couldn’t stop thinking about the way they had felt against hers. 

“I want you to kiss me,” his voice was low and gruff and she shivered. Slowly, he leaned in, planting a chaste kiss against her jaw. He moved lower, until his lips lingered at the pulse point in her throat, chin grazing the space between her shoulder and neck. “I smell cologne,” his voice was still pitched low, now inflectionless. 

Alina tilted her head to further expose her neck - and definitely not so he couldn’t feel her nervous swallow. “It’s not my jacket,” Alina mumbled. She didn’t think she needed to specify just whose for him to know. Morozova’s breath tickled against her skin as his mouth moved up, resting feather-light on the shell of her ear. 

“Take it off.”

Leaning back, away from his mouth, Alina shrugged Mal’s jacket off, letting it fall to the floor at Morozova’s feet. “Anything else?” She asked softly. His hands glided up her bare arms, and feeling bold, she said, “How about this?” and pulled the hem of her dress up and over her head, Morozova’s hands falling away, dropping the dress at his feet. It left her in her lacy bralette and panties, feeling more than naked despite the clothing still there. 

Morozova’s eyes were like tar and he made no objection as Alina brought her mouth down onto his. Her hair fell around their faces like a curtain and her hands found his shoulders as his found her hips and began to move her back and forth on his lap. Despite herself, a small moan fell from her lips into his mouth and his movements turned rougher, quicker. She could feel his hard-on nestled against her and at some point, she started to rock her hips in time with his movements, the moans coming quicker. 

“Come now, Alina,” he said, mouth next to her ear. “I know you can be louder for me.” His words set her off and she cried out, falling apart in his lap. His arms wrapped around her as he continued to thrust up into her and Alina whimpered. He had pink in his cheeks when he pulled away, and he moved Alina down his thighs some, gesturing to the noticeably wet spot on his pants, _tsk_ ing. “Look at the mess you made.”

Alina licked her lips, meeting his eyes, a devilish twinkle in hers. “I’d ask if you want me to clean you up but I think you want to fuck me more.” Her hands were at his shirt buttons, undoing them one by one until the fabric fell open. His chest was just as pale as the rest of him, and she traced a finger up the defined lines of his muscles and back down, following the V of his hips to his belt buckle. Morozova’s chest was almost heaving, his hands pushing hers away, making quick work of it. He lifted her off his lap and deposited her on the edge of his desk, stepping out of his pants and boxers before pulling her underwear slowly down her legs, setting them, too, on his desk. 

“I think you’re right, Miss Starkov,” he stepped between her legs, kissing at her neck, below and behind her ear, hands sliding up and down her thighs. She moaned, hooking her ankles around his lower back, pushing him right close to her. He clenched one hand around the edge of the desk, using the other to position himself at her entrance. Alina tightened her legs around him, forcing him a little into her and she couldn’t help thinking how much better this already was than with Mal. 

“What’s your name?” Alina whispered against his cheek. He paused, body going still against hers. 

“Aleksander,” he told her and grabbed at her hips as he drove himself deep into her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i can't lie this took forever bc i wanted to kill myself while writing the malina scene. like ugh. so boring. so dry. besides that though, how did you all like the chapter??? thoughts questions comments concerns???


	9. all it takes is a spark

If Alina had thought seeing Mal walking around campus with Zoya snug under his arm was the worst thing she could endure, which she had, it was nothing compared to the tight feeling that crept into her chest and the feeling of her stomach dropping somewhere near her feet when she spotted Zoya on her tiptoes, arms wrapped around his neck and kissing Mal like she would die if she didn’t. It was like feeling her heart rotting in her very chest as she watched, but she couldn’t look away. Did Zoya know that last night her boyfriend had taken Alina into a bathroom and fucked her? There was no way, because - well if she knew, why would Zoya still be kissing Mal that way, or at all?

Something made her look away finally, and she made her way to Professor Morozova’s class as if she hadn’t left it only hours ago. And though she was still a little sore between her thighs, the sight of Morozova pulling titles from his bookshelves made heat pool in her stomach. “Good morning,” she chirped, no indication in her voice of the girl she’d been last night, sitting on his lap, brash and bold, sad and needy. Morozova’s shoulders stiffened at the sound of her voice, and he rotated in place like he was made of metal parts, old and slowly rusting, but if Alina noticed, well, she didn’t say anything about it.

“I trust you’ll be able to lend me some assistance between lectures today, Miss Starkov?” His face held that indecipherable expression, silver eyes seeming to trace the lines of her. 

What else was Alina his TA for, if not the exact thing he’d just asked of her? But all she said was, “For sure.” Butterflies took flight in her stomach, looking at him just then - sure, Mal was all square jaw, blue eyes and broad shoulders, but Morozova was sharp lines, sharp tongue and intelligent eyes. It was a different kind of intelligence that gleamed there, different from David’s owlish stare and her other professors’ know-how. Morozova treated the knowledge he had like it was some sort of weapon to be wielded, and maybe she liked that because she’d never really realized that there was power in being smart. That there was more than just the luck of the genetic draw in life.  

As eight-thirty drew nearer students began filing in through the door and taking their seats. Alina flicked through Morozova’s presentation as he gave his lecture and it seemed like she’d merely blinked when the class was suddenly empty again save for the two of them. She stood, stretching her arms high over her head, feeling the fabric of her shirt lifting up, brushing just below her bellybutton - was Morozova looking? She tried to peer at him from the corner of her eye, but all she got was a glimpse of his moon-gray dress shirt. Was a glimpse of a small slice of her midriff even enough to entice someone? She dropped her arms back down to her sides, the fabric of her chunky-knit sweater resuming its previous place covering the button of her black jeans. He wasn’t looking, of course he wasn’t looking - fucking her twice had been probably more than enough for him. Once was probably enough and he was just being a glutton last night. Or perhaps he’d felt bad, because there Alina had been, smudged red lipstick and watery eyes in a dress that barely covered her ass and how could he say no to such an easy lay? No - no. Morozova had never struck Alina as the type of man to feel bad about anything or anyone. It was something in his far-off eyes, like icebergs floating solemnly in deathly cold waters that would be happy to have you drown in them, or at least indifferent to your body fighting desperately to stay afloat. Morozova also hadn’t struck Alina as the type of man to need an easy lay. Surely, he could have not made a move on Alina and gone out and found his own Zoya, gotten her into bed with him last night. But it had been Alina he’d pulled onto his lap. And that had to count for something.

Right?

“Miss Starkov,” Morozova’s voice was a bored lull and Alina startled out of her thoughts, spinning on her heel to find him leaning against the edge of his desk, paper in hand. 

“Yes?” Her voice was high-pitched and she was ninety-nine percent sure her cheeks were just as red as they felt. 

His eyes didn’t move from the page in his hand. “Would you go over this for me and tell me what it says?” He held the paper out to her, like some sort of invitation. 

Her brows furrowed together. “Sure?” it sounded more like a question than anything else, but why would Morozova need Alina to read over a document that he appeared to have already read? Regardless of her confusion though, Alina took a step forward and another, reaching to grab the paper when Morozova’s free hand snatched her around the waist and pulled her up against his chest, tight enough that she could feel the hard-on his pants were somehow hiding against her ass. Somehow the paper had ended up in her hand and Alina only realized it as his hand began a slow descent up under her sweater, under the waist of her jeans, to the elastic of her underpants and her fingers tightened around the paper, nearly crumpling the bottom of it. 

Aleksander’s lips were at her ear: “Read it, Alina.” His fingers went lower, dragging a slow line down and then back up her opening. Then, as his fingers circled lightly, so fucking lightly, over her clit, “Tell me what it says.”

The soreness between her thighs forgotten and his hand in her pants spurred her to skim her eyes over the first sentence, the next and the next. “It says,” she started, “that Dean Barrister is coming to listen in on a lecture -”

“ _ When _ is he coming, Alina?” His fingers filled her slowly, and her head lolled back on her shoulders, brushing against his collarbone. And then, a soft murmur: “I certainly hope it’s after you do.”

Her next words caught on a moan as he pushed his fingers deeper and his thumb drew circles around her clit. “Today at - today at ten-thirty.” The syllables hitched and bumped around the moan he dragged out of her, and she was finding it hard to keep her focus on the paper in her hand. “What time is it?” She managed. She knew, like muscle memory, that Morozova’s first class of the day began at 8:30, his next at 10:30, and his last at 2:00. But she was having a hard time deciphering just how much time they’d passed right there, with his hand down her pants and her trying to read to him through the pleasure of it. 

“Are worried, Miss Starkov? That the Dean might walk in, and see you coming on my fingers?” That voice of his, oh it made her shiver, and he chuckled as he felt it go through her. 

Alina bit back a moan, laying her head back on his chest, meeting his eyes, cheeks flushed. “I’m not coming,” she insisted, wriggling in his hold. 

Morozova tapped a finger on his free hand against her ribs. “Ah, ah,” he seemed to chide, “That wasn’t very nice, Alina.” And then, perhaps because he found it funny or maybe because he liked to, he curled two fingers inside her, teeth pressing against Alina’s throat while she gasped and arched into him. 

Then, just like that, Morozova pulled his hand away, and it felt wrong - the sudden emptiness, the lack of a hand to grind down on. Alina panted, turning to look at him. Morozova seemed quite pleased with himself, smirk on his lips and brows raised ever so much as he brought his slick fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. The sight was...it was… Alina could barely form thoughts, her brain being in the hazy fog of pleasure it was, and him doing that - that was just plain mean. It told her Morozova was not about to put his hand back in her pants and let her finish. Almost without knowing she was doing it, Alina pushed her thighs together, feeling the slickness at her core and the ache that pulsed in time with her heartbeat - or the other way around, maybe. Her professor watched, eyes trained on her and she couldn’t have said how long they stared at one another. His pupils were blown wide the way she often made them, and she was flushed a vibrant pink from her ears to her chest, knowing how nice it would feel if he would put his cold hands back on her. 

But he didn’t do that, only slowly made his way back to his desk and Alina took that as a cue to fall into one of the seats in the front row. She let her head fall back, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to rub her thighs together in the hopes of some friction. She wouldn’t give Morozova the satisfaction - she could feel his eyes on her, and when she felt confident enough to look back at him, he wore a savage smile, more like baring his teeth at her. Still, he was beautiful. She heard the door open, bang against the wall but she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He was -

Dean Barrister smiled at Morozova, and then at Alina. “Morozova,” he nodded, “Miss Starkov.” 

...He was still her professor. 

* * *

 “Something wrong with you?” David quirked a brow at her as she shuffled awkwardly, putting her jacket on his already crowded desk chair. In fact, there was something wrong with Alina, like the fact that she still felt weird with David even though they were friends and that she was...was she a slut? But she wasn’t about to confide in David that she was lonely and sore because she’d had sex three times last night, and Mal wasn’t all that skilled and Morozova wasn’t all that gentle. 

She cleared her throat. “Let's say I did one too many squats last night,” a lie. David simply shook his head, owlish eyes flicking back down to the astronomy magazine in his lap. “Did you watch that movie I told you about?”

He pushed his glasses higher up on the bridge of his long nose. “You mean the conspiracy theory advertising itself as a documentary? Because if that’s what you meant, then yes, I spent an hour and a half of my time watching it.”

Alina smiled at him, plopping down on the floor beside him. “And?”

“And I can’t decide if it was a waste of said time or not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super short chapter compared to normal, but alas, i got stuck and also i wanna do a time jump for the next chapter :)) let me know what you think !


	10. first comes love, then comes marriage...

_**A MONTH LATER, GIVE OR TAKE** _

Alina felt like she was wearing an eternally-there cloak of fatigue over her shoulders. It’d been expected, that first week or so after getting off the first plane ride of her life. The five hour time difference between Massachusetts and London did nothing to help. At first it had been a price she’d been more than willing to pay just for this unbelievable opportunity. Somehow,  by some luck of the draw she supposed, Alina had been selected for an elite exchange program to study in England for the rest of her freshman year. At first she, there’d been nothing but trepidation limning her bones, wariness weighing just as heavily as the guilt she was feeling for not wanting to seize the opportunity. And she had had time to consider it, and so she took her sweet, sweet time, and was fully prepared to let her sudden luck slip through her fingers if it meant that she wouldn’t have to be so far away from Mal, even if he’d hurt her, if it meant she still got to keep her job as Morozova’s TA, if she still got to have _him_ on the side. But then, there Zoya had been, after weeks Alina had spent managing to avoid the raven-haired beauty queen. She’d looked bloated, almost comically so and only in her stomach, and Alina was prepared to be a little confused at the sight - because she had never seen Zoya anything less than absolutely, perfectly, model-skinny - and move on, before she saw Zoya lift a hand absently to her stuck-out, bloated belly. And sure, that was normal enough - but it was the _way_ Zoya rubbed at her stomach, lovingly, and the way Mal was suddenly nowhere to be seen that made her realize: Zoya, picture-perfect Barbie doll-esque Zoya, was pregnant.

And Alina’s heart broke just a little more, just a little too much. Another girl was having Mal’s baby, which she had never even imagined, and yet Mal was just gone. She hadn’t seen him show up to Morozova’s class in months, and somehow knew he hadn’t been showing up to his other classes and wasn’t simply trying to avoid her. Maybe...maybe her Mal was gone, she realized. Her Mal, the one that had curled up with her in a tiny bed in an orphanage that so far away and told her stories when she couldn’t sleep and refused to go into any sort of housing without her, the one who had too good of a heart to just abandon a girl he seemingly got pregnant - gone. And Alina hadn’t even noticed. When had the change happened? When had it begun, even? She couldn’t have said. She had been to utterly wrapped up in herself and her own feelings and wounds, self-inflicted or otherwise. Too busy trying to outwit and out-seduce Morozova. 

Then, just like that, the financial security and the sex her job as Morozova’s TA offered was not enough. She didn’t think there would have been a large enough sum of money or amount of bliss Morozova could have offered her to make her stay. Maybe if he’d bothered to form a connection to her other than his dick in her it might’ve been harder. But no such thing existed between them, and it was easy, alarmingly so, for Alina to pack her meagre belongings in a second-hand suitcase and board a six and a half hour flight to a completely different country where she knew no one at all. And in the month she had been living in London, adjusting and studying and studying some more, she hadn’t heard from David, from Mal. Even if it hurt, a sharp stinging of sadness in her chest, Alina did not find she was all that surprised. 

It was the newness of it all making her tired, she argued to herself. The studying late into the night and early in the morning to keep her grades up so she wouldn’t get her exchange program taken away - if that was possible. That was the explanation Alina contented herself with until she began starting her mornings off with a round of vomiting up last night’s dinner. 

* * *

Alina swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. She felt marginally better, but her stomach still churned, and when she stood after a few resting moments to try again to start her day, bile rose up in her throat, spilling into her mouth and she lurched for the porcelain bowl again, retching up everything until she was dry heaving, heart racing and forehead beaded with sweat. So this was how her day was going to go. _Wonderful_ , she thought, but she was quickly starting to feel better and rinsed her mouth with water straight from the tap before brushing her teeth. 

She was running late now, and Alina hurried around her small dorm, throwing on a fluffy sweater that blended with the colour of her hair and dark jeans, a pair of ankle-height boots and then her coat. It was January and though she knew it was the same temperature in London as it was right now in Cambridge, she still always found herself becoming uncommonly cold. She practically ran out the door, barely making it to class on time for her 8 a.m. lecture. It was her physics class, and though the teacher had a lovely accent when she spoke and her words sewed themselves together beautifully, one syllable to the next, Alina always found herself dreadfully bored in this class. _There_ was one thing she certainly hadn’t anticipated missing; Morozova’s teaching. In every one of his lessons, she had been almost embarrassingly engaged - though she couldn’t quite untangle whether that was because of his teaching style or that it was simply him - but now, bored, Alina let her mind wander. Maybe she should have tried paying more attention, though, to distract her from the direction her thoughts kept leading her - Morozova. She thought about him an awful lot for someone who had only been using her for sex. Blackmailing her, really. _What kind of person does that?_ she often wondered. Her mind would reply in kind, asking her ever so nicely, what kind of girl was she to _like_ sleeping with someone so obviously manipulative and cruel? 

But she’d had a plan - she was going to flip it all, turn the tables on her professor. And then there’d been Mal, and Zoya, and she just couldn’t stay. She had felt like her life was choking her while she scrambled to form words; _this isn’t how it’s supposed to be_ , and the world laughing at her naivety, sneering: _but this is how it is_. She had just wanted something, _anything_ else. 

She did miss the sex, though. But it wasn’t like even if he was here or she was there she would have been able to have sex with him - she was due for her period any day now and -

Alina paused. Her whole body seemed to stop functioning for a moment, just a second between seconds where her lungs did not draw air, her heart did not pump blood and her kidneys did not filter. When...when was the last time she’d actually gotten her period? Her body started up again, working at double, triple speed, and her blood pounded in her ears, her mouth drying up. _I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know_. 

She shoved her books into the bag at her feet, bolting up and for the door, leaving her professor a little stunned in her dust. Drugstore - Alina needed to get to a drugstore or a convenience store. She couldn’t remember right then the last time she ran so fast or so hard, but the first drugstore she found, a little one tucked in between a coffee shop and a pizza place, she dashed inside and stared helplessly at the clerk behind the counter. He looked young, maybe younger than her, with pimples on his face and gangly arms and she barely had the decency to feel embarrassed through her panic when she blurted at him, “Pregnancy tests!”

He startled. Squinted at her. “Aisle three?”

Alina pushed away from the counter, tripping over her own feet to get to isle three, eyes scanning frantically - condoms, lube...pregnancy tests! _Clear Blue, First Response, Clinical Guard_. There were so many, too many, and Alina dismayed and cursed whoever thought there needed to be more than one option. How could anyone reasonably expect her to _choose_ one in her current state? She was nineteen and probably pregnant with her professor’s baby and if that didn’t sound like the beginning of her own ruination and proper cause for panic, Alina didn’t know what would be. Antsy, she grabbed for the one that read _First Response_. That had to mean it was fast, and if not, hopefully negative.

The clerk rang her up, eyeing her like at any moment she might jump over the counter and strangle him if he didn’t go faster as she bounced on her heels. He made to hand her her change and Alina leaned forward, and he leaned away. “You can keep the change if you let me use your bathroom.”

He jerked his head to his right, where two bathroom doors stood. “Lou’s free,” he told her and held his hand back out to her. “You keep the change, think you’ll need it more than me.”

In the bathroom, Alina ripped open the package savagely and the stick went flying across the floor. Her hands shook as she placed it on the ledge of the sink, and they shook even harder as her eyes perused the instructions. _Pee on the stick...wait...one line she was safe, and two she was fucked_. Alina sat on the toilet, held the stick under herself and hoped for the best as she peed. She hoped and she prayed to saints she didn’t believe in and didn’t remember the names of anymore as she flushed the toilet and washed her hands and stared hard at the white stick until faint traces of colour began to show. 

Two solid pink lines took form. 

Alina knew staring at the stick wouldn’t change what it said, so she stared at herself in the mirror. She held it against Mal that he wasn’t who he used to be, but who was she? She was a girl who placed all her self-worth on what other people thought of her and her accomplishments and so desperate to hold on to at least her one redeeming quality, her smarts, she’d wound up here, in this moment. In a drugstore bathroom in a foreign country, all alone and holding a positive pregnancy test in her hand so tight the plastic was bending. 

 _Who are you?_ she asked the girl in the mirror. _Someone I never thought I’d be_ , her reflection answered.

* * *

If anyone had asked, Alina couldn’t have possibly begun to explain why she was sitting at a bar in some shabby club in downtown London nursing a cup of apple juice and letting tears track down her face. But that’s exactly what a golden-haired, green-eyed, broad-shouldered boy asked her to do when he came to stand beside her, presumably to order another of whatever had been in his empty cup and started at the sight of her: “Are you quite all right?!”

Alina snorted a laugh, despite herself. “No.”

He sat down on the barstool next to hers, the music loud around them, but it was a Tuesday and so there was practically no one here. “Well perhaps it might help to talk about it?” Was he offering? What was such a good-looking guy doing taking pity on Alina, asking her about her problems? 

“I’m pregnant,” she took a deep swig from her cup.

“Bloody hell!” He shouted at her, snatching the clear cup away out of her hands. Some of the juice dripped down her lips, her chin and sloshed out of the cup onto the floor. Alina stared at him. “You’re pregnant and you’re drinking?” He demanded. As if he had any say.

Alina grabbed for the cup but he pulled it farther away and only succeeded in dumping it all over the bar beside him. He made a face but turned back to her when she said, “I’m not drinking, dickhead. It’s _apple juice_.”

His high cheekbones grew pink and pinker still and he abashedly handed her back the empty plastic cup. “Sorry ‘s’not every day I uh...y’know.” Goddamn, these people and their accents. Alina was such a sucker for it.

She nodded, setting the cup down and wiping at the wet spots on her face. “Thanks for asking, though.”

He rolled her eyes at her, grinning. “Like I could not ask the prettiest girl here why she’s crying like that.”

Alina wrinkled her brows. “Like what?”

“Like her life is over.”

“Oh,” she said, and then a laugh bubbled out before she could stop the noise. “It is.”

“Your life isn’t _over_ -”

“I slept with my physics professor and now I’m pregnant. I’d say my life is over.” 

His grin came back, stretching even further, turning more crooked and charming as it grew. “Now you’ve got my attention.”

Alina gaped at him a little, unable to help how her lips curled up at the corners. “Because I definitely didn’t have it before.”

He leaned his forearm on the bar and seemed to settle further into the stool beneath him. “Nope. But now that you’ve _got_ my undivided attention, I’d love to hear your tale of woe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter originally ended a very different way and you-know-who and alina almost met at planned parenthood so YEAH.
> 
> i still wanna hear you all scream at me in the comments tho...


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